The Fox and the Wolf
by erasableprism
Summary: The Great House Benefort has been a close ally of the crown since the days of the rebellion - but when the Hand of the King suddenly dies, young Arabelle Benefort must travel with her family to Winterfell to meet the royal party. Arabelle has always been close with the Stark family, but what will happen when certain marital agreements are struck between families? (OC/Robb & OC/Jon)
1. prologue

**A/N:** Hello all! This is a story that I've had in my head, and finally I've gotten around to writing it all out. Quick disclaimer, I don't own any characters other than the Beneforts and Wyllsands. I hope you all enjoy :)

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**prologue**

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The sunrise looked magnificent from the perch of the tower. The highest tower the Nightfort had, providing even more extravagant views of the rising of the sun than the castle already had. Fresh morning dew laced the icy valley to the east, brooding mountains standing guard over the small village beyond the castle. Arabelle wiped her tired eyes as the first few rays peered over the mountain. She often woke up before dawn, watching the light slowly spill in to the valley as the day began. Her father had started this routine when she was young, tickling her toes to wake her from her slumber and carrying her to this tower half asleep as a child.

She missed being a child. To children there is no such thing as the future, just the present. They play, learn and love. A lot of girls that had been her playmates growing up had _dreamed_ of the day they would marry, saying their vows with their one true love and living happily ever after for the rest of their days. But that's just what it was, a dream. Most marriages were loveless, some meeting just days before they would commit the rest of their lives to one another.

Arabelle's parents had been blessed, she supposed. They were in love; it was plain to see just in the way they looked at one another. They were a team. So far, Arabelle had escaped the clutches of marriage. Her father had prevented any marital alliances from happening, not wanting to let her out of his sight. Alyn Benefort had fought alongside the great King in his rebellion seventeen years prior, having been great friends with Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark as boys. The three of them had grown up in Jon Arryn's care, the Lord of the Vale, Warden of the East. He raised the boys as his own and the three of them were brothers, not in blood, but in heart. House Benefort had the crown's favour, and the gratitude of not just a King, but a brother. Alyn was respected, not seeking any alliances or money. He was allowed to take his time in marrying his children off.

She just prayed she wouldn't have to marry the young prince. She didn't know much of him, only that he was four years younger than her and fair of hair. She had no desire to be a queen, not even a desire to be a wife. To her, fulfilment would come in the form of seeing everything, all of the beauty that the Kingdoms have to offer. A smirk crept upon her face as the sun slowly rose higher and higher in to the sky, it's light flushing into the valley. She leant backwards and swung her legs over the windowsill, standing back up before breaking in to a run.

Her leather boots were quiet on the cold cobbled stone of the tower, the stairs winding down for what felt like seconds before she skipped out in to the cold corridor, jutting quickly into her room to wrap her heavy fur-lined coat around her, tying it above her breast and swinging her nearby quiver over her shoulders, her black bow quickly following suit. She grabbed her leather gloves before rushing once again in to the corridor and slowly pulling her door shut.

Grasping her gloves, she jogged down the winding corridors grinning wildly as the cold air number her face. It was as fine a morning as any to go hunt, and it was as good an excuse as any to slip away from embroidery lessons and dancing with the Septa.

Her boots squeaked slightly as she came to a quick stop, spotting a guard on post. Sometimes the younger guards would sneak out to the taverns late at night, rendering themselves into a state of intoxication almost unheard of and missing their shifts. The good ones would always make it back by the time Mrs. Flynnt started marching down the halls, checking on the guard.

"My lady."

Sir Hornwood, of course. He was a good man, not far off of her father's age. He was focused on his duty and didn't take part in the whoring and drunkenness the others might have.

"Please, Sir Hornwood, you know better than that. It's Ari to you." She smiled sweetly at the man.

He was broad-shouldered and only slightly greying. A very handsome man, she thought.

"You've known me near on ten years now, and kept me out of trouble more times than I can count."

"Formalities, Ari. Wouldn't want Mrs. Flynnt to hear me misaddressing our young lady, would we?" The two chuckled, but he was most certainly right. Mrs. Flynnt organised all of the staff of the castle, and by the Gods if she didn't do her best to give the guar a hard time too, usually cracking the whip harder than their captain.

"Perhaps she could explain to me why no one was on guard down my end of the hall?" She smirked. "I just simply had to investigate, you see." She batted her thick eyelashes, the soldier's eyes crinkling as he laughed. She smiled too, nodding to the door behind her. "Is he in?"

Sir Hornwood gestured to the door plainly. "If you dare to waken the beast, be my guest." Arabelle smiled back at him, "It seems I am the only one brave enough."

The greying guardsman opened the door for her. "Good luck." He winked at her before closing it behind her.

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"Corbois wasn't on guard at my quarters this morning. You owe me a crown over that." Arabelle smirked as she leant against the frame of her brother's balcony.

"Well they usually don't crack until about two years in, I suppose when Flynnt finds out he'll be given a good flogging." She could hear the smirk in his voice. Doran enjoyed Flynnt's telling-to's, though far less when he was on the receiving end of them.

He groaned with tiredness as he pushed himself up, rolling his eyes as his sister paced to the foot-end of his bed. "Mother can try as she might, but she'll never get you out of those leathers." He nodded to her attire before stretching back, yawning.

Arabelle scoffed. She was partly thankful that her mother was not _as_ persistent as she could be on the matter. She loved that her daughter preferred running through the mud and hunting to more becoming hobbies of a young woman, Arabelle knew. But these behaviours weren't exactly suited to married life. All Mariesya Benefort wanted for her children was a long and full life.

"Practicality, dearest brother. You try wearing a dress, I tell you it is not nearly as comfortable as it looks." She smirked over at him as she mocked a curtsey. "Besides, would you have me hunt in a _dress_?"

Doran laughed and lifted his head to look at his sister. "You have me there."

Doran was tall and muscular, a broad physique that Arabelle mockingly credited to the amount of sweet cakes the boy consumed. He was uniquely coloured for a man of the North, no doubt in part thanks to their fair-haired Southern mother. His hair was shorter than most men his age wore it, with the colour and intensity of flames. He was slightly paler than his sister, but both had the Benefort blue eyes. Though twins, it was hard to pick unless you stood the two together and _really_ looked at them. Arabelle had inherited her father's mousy brown hair. Though pale, she had the olive-toned skin of her mother. The Benefort children were well known for their attractiveness – it had made them desirable as potential partners for many a lord's children.

Arabelle flashed a grin before turning to examine a row of trinkets along her brother's drawers. "They call us the twin foxes, you know." She ran her finger along the surface of the table, collecting the dust. "A name given to us at court by the people that covet us for the noble little children."

Doran hung his head between his knees, and Arabelle could hear the smile break upon his lips. "Interesting… and what do they say about these, 'twin foxes'?"

Arabelle giggled and made her way to a plate of lemon cakes on his small table, taking one delicately between her fingers. "They say the boy is a fierce fighter, a captivating man of the North with flames for hair." She put the lemon cake in her mouth, devouring the whole thing in one bite.

Doran raised his eyebrow at her with a small smile, as if to say _'charming'_. He stood up and pulled a shirt from his floor, chuckling at his sister. "A wonder that his scalp has not succumbed to burns!"

She licked her fingers and jumped on to his bed, resting her chin in the palms of her hands. "And the girl?" She grinned up at him.

Doran smirked as he pulled his boots on, laying his shirt across his knees. "Well, they say the girl is ugly. Horrifically disfigured. She eats like a pig." Arabelle hit his arm, rolling on to her back and grinning, waiting for him to continue. "She's dumb and lame and she's not even a real Benefort! She's just a ward they claim as their own." He chuckled as he pulled the shirt over his head.

"Oh, the horror!" She rested a palm against her head, pretending to be feint. Doran smirked over at his sister.

Their smiles died out as they looked at each other, Doran fixing his shirt as he looked in the mirror above his drawers. "I fear that father has protected us long enough, Doran." Arabelle looked to her hands as she sat up, watching her brother's back. "I don't want to leave the Nightfort."

Doran sighed his agreement and stepped over to his sister, taking her small hands in to his own. "I'll miss having someone to pick on. I fear Mrs Flynnt would not be anywhere near as receptive to my tricks."

She chuckled and ran a hand through her brother's hair. "I'd make sure to be here for the funeral, chummy."

He smiled at his sister, eyes widening as he spoke. "And who would I hunt with? I assure you, Hornwood is nowhere near as good a shot as you."

Their smiles slowly faded, Doran sitting up on the bed next to his sister, a hand on her knee. She knew he felt it too. They were twins, inseparable since birth. Their father could only delay it for so long.

Their heads perked up as they heard heavy boots upon the cobbled stone and muffled voices from the corridor. The young foxes watched the door as the balding Lord Alyn Benefort barged in, clad in his leathers, holding a scroll bearing the stag, the royal seal. He hesitated, running a hand through the remnants of his hair and wiping small beads of sweat from his brow before continuing towards his children.

"A raven. From King's Landing."


	2. one

**A/N:** SOOOOOoooo I had this written up and didn't plan to post it so soon, but with renovations at my house I've found it harder to study but easy to get lose in writing. And of course I was procrastinating an assignment whilst my Internet was turned off earlier. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

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**two**

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Fresh snow crushed under heavy hooves, the grunting of the horses almost drowning out Arabelle's thoughts. It was near sundown, the air getting colder as the sun lowered. Lord Benefort had decided that the extravagance of carriages and throes of servants didn't befit him, and with that he had his family and two guardsmen, including Sir Hornwood, saddle up in their leathers and leave as immediately as they could manage. Many thought it peculiar, but Alyn Benefort was a straightforward man. He did what had to be done, and took no pleasure in the traditions of court. He thought them to be nonsense, living as simply as a Lord of a great house could. The only sigil they carried with them were hidden under their cloaks. _Bandit attacks,_ her father had reasoned. '_They'll watch us. The faster we ride and the darker our cloaks, they won't touch us'._ Arabelle clutched at the sigil above her breast, tracing the outline of the fox sewn in to her leather.

'_Darling, what of our fine clothes?_ 'Her mother had protested. She was Southern and had slightly more regard for the luxuries of her noble life. Also, unlike the rest of her family, she actually gave a damn what people thought of them. '_We aren't just meeting any man, we're meeting the damned King! We can't look common.' _Her mother had folded her arms as they prepared to mount their horses the morning before, one last protest. _'Get Flynnt to sent it behind us. It'll arrive before the King does.' _Alyn had waved off his wife, seeing to his own saddle. Arabelle felt for her mother, she'd seen the distress on her face. But even in her own panic, she watched her husband. His heart was heavy, they all knew. He'd lost the man who had been a father to him. It was best not to argue further.

They'd camped the night after, one that Benefort's and Stark's alike had frequented. She knew the Stark's as an extension of her own family; Lord Eddard Stark was her Uncle Ned. Alyn and Ned had remained close over the years since the war, the fact that they both lived in the North made it significantly easier. It was only a few days ride from the Nightfort to Winterfell on a paced ride, but Alyn had insisted that they push harder. While Winterfell was further North and closer to the wall, the Nightfort closer to the Riverlands.

It had been not one moon since Arabelle had last visited. She hadn't expected to be back for at least a few more. Not that she didn't want to go, of course. She loved the Stark brood, they kept her on her toes, and it was far more interesting than following Doran around and pestering him to abandon his duties and hunt with her.

She had spent most of the second night standing at the edge of camp, staring in to the shadows. She'd said she would keep watch, though they had their guards for that. Still, no one had protested. Honestly, she'd just stood there to think.

"What do you think the King is coming all the way North for?"

Doran had followed Arabelle to the border of the camp, standing to her side and watching the darkness, wondering what his sister was looking for.

"I have my suspicions. And I too, suspect that they are quite the same as yours." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes still trained ahead of her. "What I don't understand is why he would choose father or Uncle Ned. It would make more sense to choose Lord Tywin."

Doran cleared his throat, clearly thinking quite similarly. "Perhaps he doesn't trust him. I don't blame him, really. You know what he did in the war. What he did to those Targaeryen babes." Alyn certainly had his own opinion of the Lannisters, one he had made quite clear to his own children. Arabelle nodded at her brother, turning towards the camp. "I suppose speculating doesn't really help, Doran. Father will tell us in time."

And after a brief night's sleep, the group were off again at the break of day. Alyn rode a ways out at front, a guard and Marieysa not far behind. Sir Hornwood rode behind Doran and Arabelle. Mrs Flynnt had insisted on more guards, but father brought only two. Her father had insisted that Benefort's were more than capable of fending for themselves. Even Marieysa had learnt to use a sword in her almost two decades at the Nightfort.

It took three days of riding for the party to near Winterfall, and as they approached Arabelle smiled softly as her eyes found the grey stone walls of the castle. It was a second home to her, she never felt like she was out of place. It was not long past dawn, the air crisp as they rode. The blood red leaves of the godswood looked as though they were climbing the vast walls, mighty slabs of stone that looked a little worn. As they approached the gates there was not even a question as to who the leather-clad riders were, they were expected, and it wasn't as it this were their first visit. They rode in to the courtyard, where Lord Eddard Stark stood to great them, his face stern and unmoving. It was an odd sight for Arabelle. Though usually a very solemn man, every time he'd greeted the Benefort's before a small smile had tugged at his cheeks. Though not this day.

Her father had rode in first and dismounted quickly, holding the reins of his horse. He drew back his hood and looked his friend up and down with a glance. "Ned." They clasped hands and drew each other in for a quick embrace, Lord Stark's eyes flickering to the rest of the traveling party as they pulled back. "Alyn, old friend. Thank you for arriving with such haste." Alyn passed the reigns of his horse to a serving boy who'd rushed over to them. "We have much to discuss." Lord Benefort removed his riding gloves and gestured to his host. "At your behest." The two friends disappeared in to the keep, as quickly as they had arrived.

Arabelle swung her leg over her horse and stepped off, passing her reigns to the same boy her father had passed them to. "He'll explain it to us later, dearest." Her mother spoke as she stepped off of her horse, another more rugged looking serving boy approaching to take her's and Doran's horses reigns. "Of that I have no doubt." Arabelle spoke as her eyes scanned around the courtyard. Marieysa approached her daughter and swept a hand over her cheek, a warm smile spreading across her lips. "Go find the girls, my love."

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"And we had to sew our favourite animal, and I can't even _draw_ an animal! And Sansa is so good at it, she thinks I'm stupid, I hate it!" Arya spat as she stomped alongside Arabelle. The little wolf reminded her so much of herself at that age, constantly escaping her Septa and instead running in to the barracks, watching the guards train. "And the Septa _clearly_ favours her! If she compared our droppings she would say Sansa's is prettier!" Arabelle choked on her saliva as she laughed, almost struggling to breathe. She definitely wasn't a little lady. "I know how you feel, my little wolf."

"Why can't I go learn archery with Bran? I'm so much better at it!" Arabelle's smile faded as she placed a hand on the girl's back. "We can't fight it, pup. That's what is expected of men. And, unfortunately for us, embroidery and manners is what is expected of women."

Arya looked to her feet. "I want to be a knight. I don't want to marry a stupid boy. That's not what I'm meant to do. It's not who I am."

Arabelle sighed. She'd been exactly the same as a child. Over the years, she'd come to terms with it. That she was born in to this life, and she really didn't have much of a choice. If the King was going to ask her father or Ned to be the Hand of the King, as she and Doran had suspected, then it would be either her or young Sansa pawned off to the young prince. She hoped that she would leave Winterfell much the same as she came to it; with family, and no betrothed.

"I know, pup. I know."

Arya looked up at Arabelle quizzically, her dark eyes studying the older girl's features. "You aren't married yet. And you're pretty. So it can't be because you're ugly." Arabelle smiled at the girl's bluntness. "No, I'm not wed yet. And that is because I am very, very lucky." She crouched down, her eyes level with the young wolf. "But I have no doubt that soon I will be. Maybe you'll be the even luckier one, love." Arya watched her face because jumping forward, wrapping her arms around Arabelle's neck and holding her tightly. "Ari, when you marry, please promise you'll keep visiting."

A hard promise to keep. Arabelle didn't know where she would end up. Her father had always made it quite clear that he and Eddard had considered matching her up with Robb, the eldest Stark. And if she were to be honest, she'd much prefer that over a plump Southern Lord who hadn't worked a day in his life nor had a night with no sleep because of the cold. If she were married off South, she didn't know how often she'd even see her own family.

"I promise, pup. I'll visit as much as I can." Arabelle drew the girl in tightly, and she could hear a quiet sniffle. Arya pushed herself off of Arabelle's shoulders and looked at her dead in the eye. "You could marry Robb and never leave." Arabelle chuckled, smiling at the young wolf.

"Stuck for eternity with Arabelle Benefort? I'd hoped the Gods wouldn't resign me to such a fate." Came a familiar voice from behind the girls. Arabelle turned her head to see the oldest Stark grinning at them, his thick Auburn hair looking redder than usual. "You would _be_ so lucky." Arabelle smirked, pushing herself up from her knees and placing a hand behind Arya's back. "You'd be more trouble than you're worth, Fox." Arabelle rolled her eyes as her smile spread. "What do you want?" Arya spat. Robb laughed, approaching them and taking his sister's hand. "You've got to get ready for supper, little one. Mother asked me to fetch you." Arabelle could see Arya was about to protest, but she bent over once again and caught her eye. "Easier if you just cooperate, from my experience." Arya sighed and slapped away her brother's hand, walking down the hall whilst grumbling under her breath about the atrocities she was forced to put up with.

Arabelle smiled as the she wolf grumbled and groaned down the hall. Robb turned back to face her, his hands behind his back as he stood tall. "It's good to see you again, Benefort." He smiled his cheeks were flushed from the cold of the evening. "Worried you might be married off to the little prince now, are we?"

She brushed a stray lock of hair form her face behind her ear, realising he'd heard most of what she'd said to Arya. She had an affinity for all the Stark children and Jon Snow, but she always felt like a little girl around Robb. The little girl who followed the boys around when they would play and would often get in trouble to seek the approval of her male peers. "Worried about being Queen? Perish the thought." She smiled and looked up at him under her thick lashes, though her smile faded quickly. Robb cleared his throat. It seemed apparent that everyone thought much the same of the King's imminent arrival. He looked away from her deep blue eyes, "Yes, well. We shall see. In any case, supper will be served within the hour. You should clean up too." He smirked at her, and she retaliated by lightly hitting his arm. "As should you, Stark." She winked at him, and with that turned on her heels.

"You wound me so, Benefort."


	3. two

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews and the favourites and follows, you're all amazing! I had some free time to finish this chapter off today so I hope you enjoy it. I'm focusing on building up Ari as a character and her relationships to others in the story in these first few chapters, as this is a primarily OC centric story. I hope you all enjoy it, and let me know what you think!**  
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**three**

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"Relax your bow hand, and lower your drawing shoulder. Keep tension in your belly and…"

With a sharp hiss the arrow had hit its target, thank the Gods. "Well done, Bran!" Arabelle clapped the lad on the back and bent down to meet his eye. "You let your frustration get to you. Don't. It does you no good, the more frustrated you are the more likely you are to miss. It could get you killed, pup." Bran furrowed his brow, walking to throw his bow on to the table nearby. His direwolf pup lay under the table asleep, every now and again he'd stretch out and yawn. "Arya's better." Arabelle pushed herself up from her knees, her eyes following Bran as he turned from her. "And Arya is two years older than you. It takes time, and you'll get there." Bran leant back against the table, his brows still wrinkled. "How old were you when you made your first bulls eye?"

"Eight. Pure luck, I tell you. Took me three years to make another."

"You had shot two by eleven and I haven't shot any." He huffed and his grip on the table tightened. He lowered his auburn head to the ground. _Gods,_ Arabelle thought. _Robb was just like this when he was a child._ "You're only nine. And what did I say about frustration?" Arabelle had her eyebrows raised and a grin on her face. "It's different for everyone. You know how good a shot Theon is? He was thirteen before he made his first."

The boy kept his sulking gaze to the ground, too stubborn to look up at her. "You're doing really well, Bran. If you keep at it, you'll get there. We'll work on breathing next time." He sighed once more, Arabelle could see he was berating himself with his own doubts. "Thanks." He mumbled, his head down and feet pushing dirt. He was far too hard on himself, trying to hold up to standards set by his older brothers.

Ned had asked Arabelle to help him practice his archery while she was staying, knowing that his son's impatience was getting to him. Arabelle was flattered, really. Many knew that the young fox was a master of the bow, something she had been practicing since childhood. Sword and shield, however, was not a skill that she would ever excel in. She found the heaviness of the shield made her feel clumsy and slow, which put her completely off balance. The only reason she could hold her own in a fight was that she was small and fast, her evasiveness was somewhat legendary among the guards of the Nightfort. Alyn had taught his sweet daughter that fighting with honour was foolish when her own life was at stake. _"What would keep you alive at the end of the day, my sweet Belle? Tiring from parrying your attacker blow after blow, or throwing sand in his eyes and striking first?"_ It was a lesson she would never forget. Fight to survive.

"Have you ever seen an execution?" Bran's murmur breaking her trance. _Right_, Arabelle thought. _He was taken on his first a few weeks ago._ Arabelle walked to Bran, standing beside him and leaning on the table. "I have, pup." She looked to their feet, both playing with the dirt. "It is not something you forget, your first." Most would find it ghastly that a great lord would bring his daughter to an execution. Women were far too delicate for that, most thought.

They both leant against the table in silence and pushing dirt with their feet until the direwolf pup yawned a big yawn and surprised itself awake. "Have you thought of a name for him yet, Bran?" Arabelle questioned, her tapping the pup with her foot. Bran tapped the wolf with his foot too, on the paw. "Summer." He said blankly. Arabelle smiled down at the tired young wolf, "A handsome name if I've ever heard one."

"I didn't look away." Bran mumbled, his eyes unmoving from their feet. Arabelle put her arm around his shoulders, pulling him to her reassuringly. "I wouldn't have thought any less of you if you had."

She saw a slight smile tug at his lips, making her smirk back. "Now, what is it my little wolf has planned today? Perhaps we could hide from good Maester Luwin and you could teach me a thing or two about using a sword!" Bran's smile was contagious, something always got her when he grinned. _Damn these Stark kids. They'll be the death of me._

"Oh look at that, the infamous Fox can't wield a sword!" The mocking voice was accompanied by heavy footsteps. Four men approached them, one holding a pair of sparring swords. "Something she isn't good at! Gods, could it be true?"

Bran pulled away from Arabelle, jumping up and practically sprinting over to the men. "Jon, Rob, look! I hit the cloth!" He pointed to the target, beaming as he tried to drag his brothers in to view. "See?" He looked up at his brothers excitedly. "Well done, Bran!" Robb said, ruffling his hand through his younger brothers hair. Jon clapped his brother on the back, "Good work. Soon you'll be better than Greyjoy." Theon snorted, his wild eyes looking at the target. "Not bloody likely with a shot like that."

Arabelle stood up from the table, glaring the Ironborn ward down. "Better than you were at nine." Her tone said it all. She didn't dislike Theon, really. In fact the two were quite good friends growing up. But his arrogance she detested, and she wasn't afraid to give him a good telling to when he needed it. "You've done excellently, Bran." Doran chimed in, walking between Arabelle and Theon. "No need to put him down, Theon." Doran clapped his friend on the back, taking a sparring sword from him. "You're still a shit sword arm." He smirked, tapping his friend on the shoulder with the wooden sword.

"No need for such profanities, Doran." Arabelle said, her eyes flicking from Bran to her brother to make her point. Doran tapped his nose with his finger, "Apologies, my dearest sister." He mocked a curtsey and chuckled before walking up to his sister and hugging her, ruffling her hair in the process. Arabelle never really realized how tall her brother was until he stood next to her, her head barely level to his shoulder. She had drawn the short card of her family, she had figured. "Now, what's this about you not knowing how to use a sword?" Jon asked, his fascination displayed in the part of a mischievous smile. "I've heard you're quite proficient with two daggers, my lady."

Arabelle smiled, taking a couple of steps toward the group. It was true, she could use daggers. They were light, and though two left her more vulnerable than she would be without a shield, her swiftness gave her the advantage once again. Alyn had presented her with two custom-made swords from the Free Cities on her eighteenth name day a few months prior, so light that they had felt like daggers. They were double-ended, a perfectly moulded hand grip between the two ends, and with practice she had begun to master them. Alyn had hoped to present his daughter with two Valyrian steel blades, having melted down a second heirloom sword, equalling the inheritance between his children. And so one was a pale, great Valyrian blade, and the other an almost black Dragonglass. The Valyrian steel was heavier, of course, and took slightly more getting used to, but with her body in favour of her right side it was easier to learn to balance the two.

Her marksmanship, however, was almost flawless. Whispers had spread of the young fox's affinity for the bow rather than sewing needle. Her father had awarded her with as unique a bow as any to accompany her unique swords when she aged eighteen. A bow as black as night, a menacing spiked bow as black as night, Dragonglass being second only to Valyrian steel. It was strange, many thought, that she did not use a wooden bow. But The dragonglass was not too heavy, and its appearance Alyn had said would "frighten away all of the young suitors".

No matter, she was still awful with the swords her friends used. They were heavy, and she often needed to use two hands just to wave one around madly. "Well, Jon Snow, daggers are not swords. Anyway, what use does a _lady_ have with swordplay?" She smirked, sarcastically flicking her hair over her shoulder. "Some lady you are." Robb said as he smiled, "We're about to go get in some practice. Care to join us, you two?"

Bran grinned up at his brother, but ultimately looked to Arabelle for approval. "I suppose we could hide from Maester Luwin." Bran grinned and took off, running for the barracks. "Bran!" Robb shouted behind, setting off to chase him with Summer at pace. The rest of them laughed before setting off themselves, Arabelle waiting for Doran and Theon to pass before sliding in next to Jon.

"I've missed you." She whispered, softly brushing his hand with hers as they walked behind the others. His fingers brushed against hers, momentarily holding them. His hands warm to the touch. "Aye. And I you."


	4. three

**A/N: **Wrote this one while procrastinating! I've had a few private messages about Doran's name, as it is the name of the ruling Prince of Dorne, Doran Martell. I've named Arabelle's brother Doran because when I thought about writing her family I decided that I wanted Arabelle to have a brother much like my own, and it is as close as a Westerosi name can get to my brother's. Another chapter won't be up for a couple of weeks as I have five assignments due relatively close together, so enjoy this super long one in the meanwhile! Thanks everyone for the favourites and follows, that's what motivates me to keep writing! Please leave some feedback, let me know what you think.

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**four**

* * *

The last couple of weeks had passed quickly. Arabelle had tutored Bran every morning after breaking their fast, and after that Maester Luwin would usually drag the boy off to his other duties. She wished she could spend all day with Stark younglings, but with the King arriving in just days Lady Stark wanted her children to exemplify their best behaviour. Catelyn was usually with Marieysa, the two an unmoving force particularly adept at planning feasts and extravagancies. Both women were Southerners married off to brooding Northern suitors and they both relished in each other's company, the two had become the greatest friends over the years. With all the women in the castle preoccupied and Arabelle being a guest, she often had little to do but follow the older boys around.

Before she had retired to bed that night, her lady mother had informed her that the royal party would arrive on the morrow. It had been enough to keep her from sleep, so deep in thought that she was constantly tossing and turning. Everything was going to change, she knew. Surely her Uncle Ned would not refuse the King, which would keep her from marrying the young prince at least. But the great Beneforts surely would not be called here for no reason? Hours had passed whilst she cycled through the possibilities in her head that surely the sun would rise in only a couple of hours. _Enough_ she thought, sitting up and huffing in frustration.

She dropped her head in her hands, scrunching her hair in frustration. Everything was about to change. It was then that her door creaked, her eyes darting up to the dim light seeping through the door. A tall dark figure crept in after it and closed the door slowly behind them. Arabelle couldn't make out the face in the dark, but she had only one guess as to whom it was. She pulled some furs up to cover herself as her squinting eyes followed the figure. "I thought you'd be asleep." His voice was barely audible, a hint of disappointment in his tone. Arabelle stumbled; she wasn't sure what to say. "It is fairly wracking on the nerves that the King will be here tomorrow."

He approached the bed and sat next to her, their hands finding each other amongst the furs covering her bed. Arabelle smiled softly, leaning over to him and running a hand under his shirt, tracing the firm lines of his stomach. After a few seconds Jon took her wrist, lowering it. "No, Arabelle." Although just a whisper it was firm and made her cheeks redden. "S…sorry." She took her hand back, covering herself once more. "No.. Ari. Not like that."

He sighed heavily, trying to find her eyes in what little light the moon provided. "You'll one day marry some great lord, worthy of your name and you will give him your virtue. Not some bastard of the North." She could hear the sadness in his voice, a sadness she soon felt build up in her throat. "Jon…"

"I have no future, no title. Hells, if someone caught me here I'd have my head taken for your honour." He spat, but she knew it was not directed at her. He was directing it at himself. "Jon, please." She pulled him close to her and took his face in her hands, "You are so, so much more than a bastard." A stray tear fell down his cheek as he closed his eyes, bringing his hand to touch her own. "Don't let people define you as such just for circumstance of your birth. You are strong, kind and you have that damned Stark honour. You are so much more than a Northern bastard."

He leant in to her, stealing a kiss. His lips met hers with an intensity she had not felt before, a desperate passion trying to light itself. His lips parted hers and they fell back on to the bed, the furs pushing back to exposing Arabelle's form underneath. His eyes fell to her breasts, his hands soon following suit. _No_, he thought. He pulled back, sitting back up abruptly. "Ari…" he whispered, dropping his head between his legs. She sat up, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"I wish I could be more for you."

* * *

The King had arrived some hours after the sun had risen and immediately insisted that he go to the crypts beneath the castle to pay his respects to Ned's late, sister. Lady Lyanna. "We're been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait." The fair-haired Queen had protested half-heartedly, her eyes held some measure of displeasure at her husband's decision. He had waved her off and left the royal party almost immediately. Robert was not as Arabelle had remembered as a child. The years had not been kind to him, she had thought, his black hair was greying at the sides and his beard looked quite unkempt, as well as a belly that could almost rival a barrel in size. He had departed with his brothers of heart to the crypts, leaving each family without their patriarch to settle in.

Arabelle had plaited her hair for the occasion, and her mother had even managed to get her in to a dress. She had been stopped many times just that morn by a number of people telling her how radiant she looked. When the Beneforts and Starks had fallen in to line to greet the King, she had locked eyes with Jon fleetingly, both looking away anxiously. She wanted to stand near him, to touch his hand but she was stood so far from he, and Jon being a bastard was forced to stand behind with Theon, Lord Eddard's ward.

The King had greeted Ned and Alyn first, the three laughing together at how age had been a bitch to them all. Their wives were next; both lovingly embraced with a familiarity that Arabelle hadn't expected. And then their eldest sons, Doran and Robb. They shook hands, the King commenting on Robb's Tully hair and Doran's broad shoulders. Then, Arabelle and Sansa. The daughters. "My, you're a pretty one." He had nodded to Sansa, before turning to Arabelle. "Your little fox has grown in to a beauty, Al." He smirked, kissing her hand. "Your Grace." She curtseyed; her eyes darted to the ground. She breathed a sigh of relief as he moved on to the Stark pups.

When the King and brothers had finally left, Arabelle noticed that Jon had snuck away as soon as their fathers had. She wouldn't see him for a time, she knew. Lady Catelyn would want to hide her husbands' transgression.

"Ari?" Doran looked at her, eyebrows creased with concern. "Are you alright?" It was then that she realised she had furrowed eyebrows, and her head was darting around like a curious owl. She relaxed her face and forced a smile.

"Of course, of course. Fine."

He put his arm around her shoulders and nudged her softly, "Robb and Sansa have to give the royal children the grand tour, and mother wants us to go with them." He nodded his head towards Robb and Sansa as they greeted the crowned heir and his siblings, Sansa and the prince sharing lingering looks. Robb gestured towards the twin foxes, smiling at Arabelle as he met her eye. The young prince Joffrey smiled at her too, and it made Arabelle's skin crawl. Something about him felt off, something in his eyes. He was a little southern boy, she had figured in the brief moments since he had arrived. Coddled by his riches and title. Her stomach tightened at the thought she could be wed to him. _Surely it will be Sansa._

"Doran and Arabelle Benefort will be joining us, your Grace." Robb spoke firmly.

"Ah, good. I had hoped to meet Lord Benefort's children once more." The crown prince eyed her up and down, his eyes lingering at her waist. _Ugh._

"It is a pleasure, your Grace. My brother and I are honoured to join your personal welcoming party." She smiled, bowing her head slightly. She was damned if she couldn't put on a good act.

"Are you the twin foxes?" Came a young but curious voice from behind the prince, a young girl of maybe ten. "Quiet, Myrcella. No-one wants to hear those stupid stories." Joffrey snapped at his younger sister. His attitude repulsed her all the more. Arabelle laughed softly, in the most ladylike manner she could manage. "That's quite alright, your Grace." She bent down to meet the girl's eye, smiling at her all the while. "We are indeed, the twin foxes. Though I don't know how it makes my brother or I any more special than others."

"Mother and Uncle Jaime are twins."

"Myrcella, I don't think Lord Doran nor fair Lady Arabelle care if others are twins. So stop being such a bother and stay quiet." Joffrey spat once more.

Arabelle's smile saddened as she saw the girl's face drop. She looked to Robb, his face was neutral but she could see abhorrence in his eyes. "Well, I think we shall get on with it then. If you would follow me, your Grace." He started, nodding ahead to indicate where they were going.

Arabelle bent over before Myrcella turned, smiling at her. "I think your curiosity is wonderful, my princess." She offered her hand and the princess gladly took it. "Now, let's show you around."

* * *

After the grand tour of Winterfell, Sansa and Arabelle had been summoned to their mothers to prepare for the feast later that night. Gods only knew what the boys were up to, but no doubt they didn't have to get pretty for the King. Catelyn had been brushing Sansa's lovely auburn hair when she had told her daughter of her potential betrothal to the prince.

"So when would we be married, soon, or would we have to wait?" The girl was practically shaking with excitement, and of course it was one of the first things she had asked.

But it was all-dependent on whether Ned was to say yes to the King's offer, Catelyn had said to her daughter. "But he would be the second most powerful man in the Kingdoms! "Sansa had protested. Catelyn's face turned sour, she didn't want to lose her husband nor her daughters. But change was coming.

Marieysa had fixed her daughters braid and placed both hands on her shoulder, smiling down at her daughter.

"And that leaves the matter of your betrothed." When she spoke those words, Catelyn looked over and smiled sincerely at Arabelle. And then she knew.

"Really? Well, don't leave me waiting." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm.

Marieysa playfully hit her daughter. "My dear, that tone won't have any men chasing after you anytime soon."

Catelyn smiled and stood up as she finished Sansa's hair. "You are to marry Robb, Ari. Something I'm sure you'll be most agreeable to."

And honestly, she was. There was no way she could avoid marriage, as much as she would have liked. Realistically, this was the best option she thought. She was glad that she would be married to at the very least a dear friend, and happy to stay in the North, as close to her family as she could be. But it made her feel sick to her stomach when she thought of Jon. When he would find out… she mentally sighed. Married to his own brother. Gods watch over her when she would speak to him again.

Sansa turned around from her chair, a grin on her face. "We'll be sisters!" Catelyn approached Arabelle, and the girl stood up as Cat took both of her hands in her own. "I am so glad that it will be you, my dear. You are like a third daughter to me, and finally our families will be formally joined."

The woman was like a second mother to her too, and she felt as though she should be more excited that she wouldn't have to leave. "I am honoured, Aunt Cat. I will do my best to be worthy of your son."

The first hour of the feast had been a formal affair, the noble and royal families sharing a table whilst the remainder of the hall had been silent. Arabelle was sat next to Sansa and Arya, listening to Sansa wail on about her betrothed and her future as the Queen. Arya would often mock her and Arabelle had to stifle her laughter, telling the little wolf to show more respect while seated amongst the royal family.

And then after that hour, the families had spread to take their seats among their people, Sansa finding herself with Jeyne Poole, both excitedly talking of her future and Arya sitting amongst the guards, bothering them with all sorts of questions about warfare, Arabelle had figured.

Arabelle had wanted to sit with her father, but he had quickly disappeared and her mother was sat with Catelyn and the Queen. She found herself leaning against an archway, wine in hand and fingers on her lips.

She saw the King drinking, eating and fondling a kitchen maid. He was not the great King Robert of all the tales she had heard as a child. He repulsed her, juices of the meat he was eating spilling from his mouth along his beard to be licked off by the kitchenmaid.

"It's quite a grand feast."

Robb came to stand next to her, though her eyes never left the King. "What a crude man that he would disgrace his wife as such." Arabelle muttered, taking another sip of wine. "She's sitting right up there, and he's doing all of this in front of her."

"He's the King." Robb smirked, "He does what he wants."

Arabelle rolled her eyes; "If he's a King there must not be a very high standard for them."

He laughed, taking a sip of his own wine. The two stood quietly, watching and listening to the feast from their small archway. Arabelle wasn't sure what to say to him, and the wine was starting to cloud her thoughts.

"I... I assume you've heard of our betrothal." Robb broke the silence, yet as he spoke he was unable to meet her eyes.

Arabelle laughed out loud, choking slightly on her wine. "I have indeed. I'm honoured to be your bride, your future Lady Stark." She mocked a curtsey, still laughing as she leant back against the cold stone.

Robb laughed too, his laugh slowly dying off whilst his eyes never left her. "Still, I could not possibly have a more beautiful bride. I'm glad its you, Ari."

She met his eyes, bringing the wine back to her lips. He glanced away awkwardly, his eyes focusing on something else. She was light-headed and knew she probably should slow down with the wine. But she didn't.

"My Uncle Benjen is here." He smiled, his eyes following his uncle.

"How's the wall been treating him?"

"Well. I'm glad he's here."

Robb gestured towards the crowd and took her hand, leading her amongst the swaying drunk crowd to a table just below the Queen's prying eyes, sitting down next to Theon. The Ironman smirked at her as she sat down."So, Benefort, I hear you're to be a Stark soon."

She rolled her eyes.

"Shut it, Greyjoy." Robb glared at him, the look in his eyes fierce.

"Something you'll never achieve." She muttered, bringing the wine to her lips once more.

"Well, Stark. You're lucky. You'll get to spread the legs of the Blue Fox, a winter rose. Hundreds will envy you."

Robb's glare intensified. "Don't talk about her like that."

Arabelle laughed, placing her hand on Robb's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. "And I take it you, Greyjoy, are one of the hundreds in envy?" She squeezed Robb's shoulder. Theon was such a stirrer; Arabelle thought she might as well dub him 'the spoon.'

Just as Theon was about to bark back, Arya flung a spoon full of soup at her elder sister, sending their end of the hall in to a laughing fit. Robb forgot the tension of a few seconds ago and laughed loudly, his smile lighting up his face.

"Arya!" Sansa screamed in horror, turning to her friend Jeyne and bursting in to tears.

In the midst of laughing, Robb had glanced at his mother only to get shot a look that said 'sort it out.' Robb stood up and picked up his sister, setting her down and pushing her towards the doors to the hall. "Time for bed."

Arabelle was drunk, she knew. Her head was slowly spinning, and she knew she too should be retiring to her quarters. She pushed herself off the table, getting up to follow Robb and Arya out before stumbling slightly as she caught her leg along the bench on which she had sat.

"Easy, Benefort. He didn't mean you."


	5. four

**A/N: **Is it me or do you never notice how drunk you actually are until you go to the toilet and you're alone. And the sober voice in your head that's kind of trapped? Weird, right? Anyway enjoy a drunk Arabelle in this chapter, corny insults and all.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE - HUNT**

* * *

"What's wrong with Arabelle?" Arya asked, her eyebrows rose as the youngest Benefort daughter was laughing manically, draped along her betrothed's shoulders.

"Nothing, she's just a little... tired." Robb hurried to make an excuse, getting a better grip on the girl's waist.

"What's wrong with you?" Arabelle smirked sloppily. She hadn't realised how drunk she was until she left the hall.

"Is she drunk?"

"Alright, alright." Robb muttered, stopping outside of his sister's room. "We're here now Arya. Now go to bed, or I'll send Septa Mordane after you." He threatened with a sweet smile, nudging his sister off into her room. Arya rolled her eyes, treading in to her room slowly. "You don't have to tell me twice."

When he door closed Robb turned Arabelle in the direction they had came, backtracking to a staircase up to the Benefort girl's quarters. "Robb, why are you so good to me?" She giggled, her face resting on the crook between his shoulder and neck. He smiled, glancing at her mess of hair. "How do you mean, Ari? You've walked me back to my chambers many a time when I've been in your current state." Arabelle slung her free arm around his waist and laughed, some of her hair getting caught in her mouth. "I'm glad it's you I'm going to wed." She mumbled, hugging him tightly.

"Alright, you need to go to bed." He opened the door to her chambers, helping her through the door and over to her bed. He crouched down in front of her, smirking up at her as he glanced at the door.

"You'll be alright now, won't you?"

"Fine, I'm _fine."_ She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the door. "Go off and enjoy the feast, tell Theon he's a moist loaf of bread."

"A moist loaf of bread?" His smile spread to his ears, a chuckle escaping his throat.

"A moist loaf of bread!" She shouted, gesturing more aggressively to the door.

"If you insist, my lady." He stood up and bowed. "A moist loaf of bread!" He shouted as he walked to the door. He closed the creaky door, and Arabelle could hear him laughing even as he walked down the hallway.

Arabelle fell back on to her bed, the room spinning when she lay down. It was so hot in here. Why was it so hot? She clawed at her dress, trying to find and undo all the straps.

She heard her door creak open once more accompanied with light footsteps. "Robb, I'm _fine._ I promise." She groaned, curling up in to a ball on the bed.

"You're to marry Robb?" Jon stood near her bed, his curly black head looking to his feet. _Oh gods, not while I'm like this. _"Jon!" She shouted, sitting up to grab his hand and pull him down with her.

"Quiet, do you want me to be found in here?" His tone was sharp and he had stopped her before he had fallen with her, having snatched her wrist and pulling her forward. Arabelle shook her head, a shame in her that she likened to being told off as a child.

"Are you to marry Robb?"

She felt his eyes burning her as she nodded.

His heart felt like it had stopped in that moment. Married to his brother. Could the Gods possibly be any more cruel? She would birth the Stark heirs while he sat on the damned wall, celibate with no room for affections in his life. The Gods certainly had a strange sense of humour. Hells, he was so angry. His fists were clenched and his cheeks burning. Jon hadn't asked to be born a bastard. He was older than Robb by a few months, too. It could've been him marrying her. It could've been him. She had started sobbing in his silence, dropping her head into her hands.

"I didn't ask for this." She cried, curling back up onto the bed.

Neither had he. He sighed and sat down next to her, placing a hand on her hip as her body wracked with sobs. He'd never realised how much he had come to care for her in their short time together. He wasn't mad at her. It wasn't her fault that she was so damned brilliant. He just wished they lived in a kinder world, one where a lady wouldn't be condemned if she fell in love with a bastard. Jon sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. In a few weeks he would be gone, taking the black. His life would be the wall, and really he didn't know the next time he would see her. Or if he would ever see her again.

Arabelle started clawing at her clothes once more, choking on tears and muttering something about how hot it was under her breath.

"Sit up." He said, helping her up. He went to her back and gathered her hair, placing it over her shoulder before untying the dress's straps.

"Pull it off." He walked over to the trunk that had arrived only days before, pulling from it a lighter bed gown. When he had come back she was still struggling to pull it off, so he took it upon himself to undress her. Jon pulled the soft dress from her, exposing her form underneath as he did so. He threw the dress on the end of the bed and grabbed the bed gown, making her put her arms up as he pulled it over her. He even made sure she got under the covers, pulling the warm furs over her after he had slid her in to her bed.

"Now go to sleep, Ari." He whispered, stroking her hair.

"I wanted you." She muttered sleepily, gathering more furs over herself.

* * *

She had awoke with a dull ache in her head, her mother coming in with a voice far too loud for such an early hour. Arabelle looked down at herself and had not remembered when she had gotten out of her dress. She barely remembered getting to bed, only that Robb had brought her back to her chambers. Did Jon come to her? Or was that just a dream… "You'll have to come now, the ladies must farewell their husbands and those that are soon-to-be." She had pulled a beautiful navy dress from the trunk at the end of her bed, it's seafoam-green underskirt exposed by a window at the front of the dress.

"You disappeared from the feast early last night. Last I saw you followed Robb and Arya." Though her mother was facing away, Arabelle could picture her mother's brow perk up.

"I was sick. He helped me to my chambers after having put the little wolf to bed."

Marieysa's eyes were judging, placing the dress next to her daughter on the bed. "Not before you are wed, dearest daughter. People will begin to talk. You're lucky everyone was either too drunk or disoriented that they did not notice you."

"You noticed me."

"I will always notice you. I'm your mother."

She had changed in to the colours of her house, a beautiful dress that fit her form perfectly. Her mother had led her to the courtyard where waited Catelyn and Sansa, bidding their farewells. Arabelle noticed that the King was nearby and yet the Queen was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they already said their farewells. Robb was speaking to Alyn for the first time since their marriage had been agreed. Her father would kill a man who even looked at Arabelle the wrong way, but he had a deep admiration for the Stark heir. He was the best match there could have been for Arabelle, and her father had hidden her away from marriage for long enough. The auburn haired boy turned his head, a grin spreading across his face as his bride approached.

"My ladies." He bowed, kissing both her own and her mothers hands as he greeted them. "Come to see us off?"

"It is our womanly duty." Arabelle retorted sarcastically, locking eyes with her mother briefly only to be shot a warning look from her mother.

"I'm delighted you thought me worth your time to wake from your sleep. How are you feeling this morn?" He smirked at her, knowing she'd be suffering from last night.

"Some tea and bread and I'm sure that I'll feel well later." She smiled.

"I ordered some sweet cakes be made for you when you awoke, love." Her father smiled at her, his arm around his darling wife's waist. She loved that about her father, he was always spoiling her. It suddenly hit her that she would be staying at Winterfell whilst her family would return to the Nightfort. Regardless of how close the two holds were, it wouldn't be the same. She was so close to her father, and to know that he wouldn't be there with sweet cakes in the morn made her sad.

"You have my gratitude, my lord father."

"Oh, don't you start." He let go of his wife's waist and drew his daughter into his arms, holding her close. "The hunt will only be a few days, love." Arabelle took in that familiar smell of her father. "I pray you don't get disembowelled by a wolf." She smirked. Her father understood her humour. He very well should, too. His daughter was so alike to him.

"I pray I do, just to spite you my dear." He smirked, outstretching his arm to bring her mother in to their hug. "These two women I value more than anything else in the entirety of Westeros, Stark." He nodded to Robb. "And I am trusting you with the care of one. Do not let me down, my boy."

Alyn let go of his daughter, and she turned around to face the one she would be wed to. "I promise you I will not, Lord Benefort." Her parents turned away, smiling, off to join Ned and Cat in conversation.

"He'll hold you to that." She smirked up at him.

"Gods, but your father can be a very frightening man. I would never dare cross him."

"That would be wise."

Robb threw his head back in laughter, his teeth so perfect and eyes lit up before he looked to her hands and taking them in his own. "How are you this morning, really?"

"Fine. Really. My head might be a little sore but I am well."

"I'm glad." There was a whistle coming from the stables, and Robb looked at his lady and sighed. "The King wants a hunt, and so a hunt he shall get." Arabelle smiled. "The King wants to drink and shout for people to kill things for him." She looked down at their hands and squeezed his, smiling at him. "Be safe."

"I'm never anything but."

They embraced before he departed, following their fathers towards the stable as Doran ran out behind her, kissing her and her mothers heads and hurriedly embracing them farewell before catching up to Robb. "That damned brother of yours." Her mother laughing, draping her arm over daughter's shoulder. "Now let's get some food in to you." Arabelle smiled, interlacing her fingers with those that were grazing her shoulder and turned with her mother, before catching the dark eyes of Winterfell's bastard.

And then she remembered. How she got in to bed, how she had changed out of her dress. She wanted to smile at him, to run off with him and joke around like they had just weeks ago. But his face was grim, and he looked away from her almost as soon as he caught her eye.

"Food would be very welcome."


	6. five

**A/N: **My grandmother is dying. Writing is distracting me from this. I want everyone to know how wonderful a person she is, and so I am writing my favourite person as Arabelle's grandmother. I hope you come to love her in future chapters. Anyway please leave some reviews to motivate me to come back to the story after I finish all of these assignments. Also I feel really embarrassed about trying to write Tyrion he's so fabulous and sassy and I just don't think I nailed it soz in advance xx

* * *

**six**

* * *

Rain poured outside, the weather as dark and distressed as the entire castle had been in the last few hours.

Arabelle sat at Lady Catelyn's side, holding her hand as she wept while nervously looking to Maester Luwin as he examined Brann. Her eyes were red and weary, she felt as though she had cried all of her tears. She had been the one to find him, having run off with Arya to look for him earlier that day. And there they saw him, at the bottom of the broken tower. Legs sprawled in a sickly direction. Gods, she had thought he was dead. Maester Luwin looked up from the boy grimly, taking his hand to his forehead as he figured how best to relay the news.

"If he lives through two nights, then he will survive."

Catelyn's body shook with sobs, grasping with her free hand to her young son's. "Oh… Bran."

Arabelle let go of her Aunt's hand, smoothing her dress as she tried to look the Maester in the eye. "Thank you, Maester Luwin. You'll be called upon should there be any development." She walked the Maester to the door, leaving her mother to take her place as a shoulder for Catelyn's tears. She looked back at Bran before following the Maester out, closing the door behind them.

"He won't ever walk again, will he?" Her eyes met his. She had taken an interest in anatomy during her studies as a child, and from the way his legs bent when she had found him there was no doubt that he had been paralysed.

"_If_ he survives."

"I wouldn't be one to underestimate a Stark, Maester."

The Maester smiled at her sadly before bowing his head and taking his leave. Arabelle cursed and leant against the cold stone wall. It made no sense. Brann had always had a sure foot; she had remembered climbing with him just months before and he had outpaced her with balance like a cat. She wasn't sure that the day had been a dream.

And then came the Stark men, the clinking of armour and ruffling of leather warning her of their arrival before she had even seen their faces. They slowed as they approached the door, looking to Arabelle for answers.

"My son, will he survive?" Lord Eddard Stark looked to her with undoubtedly the most vulnerable expression he had ever had.

She wouldn't lie to him.

"If he survives two more nights, he may yet live." Ned pushed the door open, stopping in the hallway. "Gods… Bran." He whispered, walking to his wife's side.

Robb looked to Arabelle desperately, fear spread over his face like a white veil of snow. She took his hand, squeezing it gently. His eyes looked so tired, lines had gathered under them since she had seen him just days before. They aged him far beyond his twenty years. "Four days away and my brother lies on his deathbed." His eyebrows were creased, his eyes lost behind her.

"He's not dead." Arabelle's thumb traced along the top of his hand absent-mindedly as she lost her eyes in one of the many cracks between the cobbled stone of the castle. "Do not despair yet, Stark."

* * *

"How is he?" Jon asked quietly, making a point of standing feet almost as far from Arabelle as he could.

"If he survives two nights he will live." Each time she said it she felt number than before. It could not possibly be true that Brann's life was hanging by a thread. That his eyes may never open again. Gods, she felt her numbness gathering in her throat.

Jon didn't look at her. Instead he looked to his feet, trying to absorb what she had told him.

"I wish I could take you to him… but I cannot imagine Lady Catelyn leaving her son's side for even a second."

"She's always hated me." He muttered.

"She hates what you represent to her, Jon. Not you." She took a few steps toward him, not wanting to scare him off like a timid stray cat.

"How is that any different? She'll always treat me like fucking vermin."

It was no excuse for how she had treated the Snow boy over the years. Theon was a saint in comparison to Jon in Lady Stark's perspective. But it was hard to understand how hard it would have been to be waiting with an heir to present to your husband only for him to return from war with a bastard.

"I'm going to take the black." Words that pierced her heart.

"Jon…"

"No, Arabelle. I'm a bastard. I can't make anything of myself stuck in Winterfell. But I can go to the wall, I can protect the realm like those of the Night's Watch have for thousands of years."

"Jon-"

"And I'm not going to bloody well sit on my arse here and watch you marry him. My brother. I can't. I can't watch you birth his damn children knowing that you were in my arms first."

"For fucks sake, Jon! Let me bloody speak!" She spat, taking a step closer to him and trying to meet his eyes.

"I was going to say that I am proud of you. It is what you want; it is what is best for you. As my marrying Robb is best for me. I was born in to this ludicrous aristocracy and I could be married off to any royal lord my father deemed our name worthy of, but instead I am giving my hand to a friend. I want the best for you, as I want you to want the best for me."

She placed her hand on his face. He tried to avoid her eyes, but she pushed his face so he had to look at her. "It might not be what we want. But it's what must be."

Their eyes locked for moments, so many things left unsaid. And then his lips crashed upon hers; taking all of her in with every desperate fibre of his being. His hands found the small of her back and he swore he could wrap his arms around her twice she was so small. She kissed him back just has desperately, a hand pressed against his chest and another tangling itself in his hair.

Their lips melded for what did not feel like enough time before he drew back and just held her in his arms. Arabelle closed her eyes, breathing him in as she rested her head against his chest. She smelt of flowers, Jon thought. She always had. He rested his chin on the top of her head and relished in her warmth. They both knew.

They knew this would be goodbye.

* * *

Arabelle held the tome across her chest, hugging it as she made her way through the cold courtyard of Winterfell. It was a book that most nurses had from what she knew, one which she had hoped would be as informative as those she had read back in the Nightfort. She had taken it from Maester Luwin's chambers when he had gone to check up on Brann.

She wanted to know what she could do. Lord Stark and his daughters would leave for Winterfell in a few days with the King, Lord Alyn and Doran would return to the Nightfort when they left. Her father would be acting Warden of the North, she had found out. And Doran was to prepare to be matched for marriage in the coming weeks. Marieysa had outrightly told her lord husband that she would stay by her dear friend's side whilst Brann recovered, making a specific list of goods Ms. Flynnt was to send for the ladies of House Benefort. Mostly Arabelle's things, seeing as she would be living in her betrothed's holding.

Arabelle was so lost in thought that she had almost forgotten where she was as she sat by the pools of water in the Godswood. The face of the weirwood tree cried red tears, its face oddly calming for the young fox. Her grandmother had taught her of the children of the forest and their greensight and skin-changing. Arabelle had always wanted to have something special like the sight, as her grandmother had. She smiled up at the blood-red leaves as she fondly remembered every crevice of her grandmother's face.

"Medicine, my lady? Forgive me for saying, but that is quite the unusual subject for a girl of noble birth."

The voice brought her back to the present, her head slowly lowering as she remembered she was not at home. That voice was unmistakable though, she had not even had to turn to know whom it was.

"If you have heard the rumours from court, my Lord of Lannister, you would know that I am quite the unusual lady."

She could hear a smirk as he approached her still, coming to sit beside her on the log of wood that most used as a seat. "If those rumours hold true then you are truly a rare specimen, Lady Benefort." He fiddled with a twig between his fingers before looking upon her face. "And you seem to be my favourite sort of person."

Arabelle scoffed, rolling her eyes as she brushed the cover of the tome that sat in her lap.

"Forgive me my lord, but from what I've heard dispossession of male endowment seems to be the only prerequisite for being _your_ favourite type of person."

He laughed then, short-lived but he did laugh. "Do not condemn me for saying, but if that was the prerequisite for my preferred people then I would not have such disdain for my sister." Tyrion clasped his hands, rubbing them together slowly.

"You are not a sheep, Lady Benefort. You are so delightfully different."

"Please, just Arabelle."

"As you wish, Arabelle."

The two sat in silence as Arabelle's eyes never left the tome, tracing the stitching along the spine.

"You like books?" He asked, his eyebrows raised.

She nodded, her eyes finally meeting his. "As do you, or so I've heard. Books give knowledge." He opened his mouth to speak but she spoke first. "Why have you come out here, Lord Tyrion? You Southerners do not keep the same Gods as we."

"You have peaked my curiosity, Arabelle of Benefort. I merely wanted to meet the fox that I have heard so much about." He smirked before looking to the book she held once more. "You're reading for the Stark boy, aren't you?"

"His name is Bran." She spat, her tone defensive as she glared at the Imp.

"Bran." He spoke, his eyes sympathetic as he lost his eyes in the reflecting pools by the weirwood. "Your family cares a great deal for the Starks. Never have I seen two families so fond of each other."

"Cutthroat politics do not hold any allure to Northmen. Our families have been close allies for centuries, my lord." There was silence for a while, before Arabelle felt guilt for having hissed at him about Bran.

"I want to help him. I can't help him without knowledge. He is such a bright and caring boy, he does not deserve such a fate."

Tyrion was quiet for awhile, and Arabelle noted that he seemed to be holding something back.

"He's lucky he's the son of a lord, he'll be taken good care of." She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. He stood up, bowing his head slightly as he rose. "Lucky indeed. I will take my leave now, my lady-"

"Arabelle."

"…Arabelle. I apologise for interrupting your reading."

As he turned to leave, Arabelle felt herself soften. She had been far too abrasive as of late. "There is no need to apologise, my lord. Thank you for your time." She looked down to her feet for a moment before meeting his eyes once more.

"If I do not see you before you depart, I hope you have a safe journey, wherever you may go. You're a rare specimen, my lord."


	7. six

**A/N: **I would firstly like to thank you all dearly for your kind words – it's been a very tough couple of weeks, as I happen to be nearing exams and my grandmother passed not days after I posted that last chapter. Thank you for bearing with me through this difficult time, and I've tried to make this one longer than I had originally planned it to be as thanks for your patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review to let me know what you think :)

* * *

**seven**

* * *

Arabelle's cheeks were burning; she could feel her skin getting moist. She didn't want to have to leave her chamber. If she left then it would mean that everything that had happened in the last few weeks was real. Her heavy linen dress felt so tight across her chest as she struggled for breath. There was a light rap at her door and she muttered her invitations inside.

"Septa says we're to be leaving now." The little wolf trotted up to the bed, jumping on it to seat herself beside the young fox holding her head in her hands.

Arabelle wiped her eyes and steadied her breathing, sitting back up to face the young Stark girl as she sat cross-legged with wide eyes examining her elder from head to toe.

"Why is your face so red?" Arya's eyes were so dark, much like her father's. She favoured her northern blood in both appearance and attitude.

Usually she would retort sarcastically and ruffle the child's hair, but her energy had been sapped from her. Arabelle would surely be married to Robb within the year and Sansa to the young prince within a few years. Knowing the infrequency in which she would be seeing the Stark girl's saddened her. Knowing the infrequency in which she would see Jon too played on her mind.

"I'll miss you, pup. It'll be awhile before you see me again."

Arya huffed and crossed her arms. "I don't want to go to King's Landing. I'll be stuck with Sansa and Jeyne and I won't be able to do _anything_ there! Septa Mordane is going to make me miserable."

"Well, if your father lets you, you can come up here and run around with Nymeria and I in the cold and mud." Arabelle smirked, wrapping her arm around the little wolf's shoulder.

"You could teach me how to use Needle!" She exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Forgive me, but I did not think you had any desire to learn to sew." Arabelle's head tilted, looking down at her companion in confusion.

"Needle! Jon gave me my own sword. It's skinny but he said it'd poke a man with holes."

Arabelle chuckled. That was the girl she knew. The wild wolf pup. "I suspect you would not be able to handle a broadsword. It would make you slow and more prone to be hit." Arabelle brushed some hair off the little one's face. "You're fast. That is your strength."

Moments passed before they spoke again. Arabelle was holding Arya's hand, just relishing in their last few moments together. She loved the girl like she was her own sister, stubborn though she may be.

"Arya, you've got to promise me you won't be mean to Sansa. She is your sister, and aside from your father she will be the only person you can trust down in the capital."

"Sansa's mean to me. If I breathe she doesn't like it. She's already in love with the Prince."

Arabelle sighed. If only these petty grudges could be lifted. She had heard far too many a story about estranged siblings. She did not know what she would do if she did not have Doran. She was glad they had settled their differences in the past, but what troubled her now was that Arya did not trust her sister.

"I wish I could stay home with you and Robb, Bran and Rickon. And I could visit Jon anytime I like."

"Unfortunately we don't always get what we want, pup."

Arya wrapped her arms around Arabelle's waist, holding on to her so tightly. "If I got what I wanted Bran would be okay and we could run away with you and Jon and travel the world while Robb and Sansa play lords and ladies."

Arabelle could feel her heart sink at that. She knew that Arya would never be as accepting of the life she was born in to as Arabelle had become. It had only been the last year, really, that Arabelle had come to terms with it herself. She hoped at the least that Ned would see all the little Southern lords for what they are and marry his daughter to a Northman. The little wolf belonged in the North.

"If I got what I wanted I would have already whisked you away to the Free Cities, and we'd be planning our next venture beyond the wall."

"I like the sound of that." Arya grinned up at Arabelle.

* * *

Jon smirked slightly at his brother as he placed his saddle upon his black mare.

"Next time I see you, you'll be all in black." Robb remarked, the corners of his mouth rising faintly.

"It was always my colour."

There was a brief pause, then. This would be their last time he would see his brother as just that. As brothers. He much imagined that they would be like his father and Uncle Benjen in the future, visiting once every few years, maybe even months between visits if he was lucky. However, that luck really depended on deserters and their beheadings. A grim thought. Both men's smiles faded, as they took in these last moments.

"Farewell, Snow."

"And you, Stark."

And then they embraced, something they had not done since they were children. They were men, now. They had both known that this day would come. Not necessarily in the fashion that it had occurred, but Jon's parentage always deemed a departure in his adulthood. Jon closed his eyes briefly, in his mind Robb was still that auburn-haired youth that would always save them from the trouble they would get up to.

They let go of each other, Robb's head turning to look at a woman clad in navy robes and a thick cloak, the fur around her shoulders almost up to her ears. Arabelle was grinning, her family laughing at what Jon assumed was one of Doran's stupid jokes. Arabelle's eyes met Robb's for a moment, smiling at him before focusing her gaze on the bastard boy who had held her not three days ago. Arabelle's eyes went back to her mother, her hand moving to her mother's arm as if to excuse herself.

Then she started making her way to him. She looked so clean as she waded through the Winterfell mud, a true vision of beauty. Time slowed as he watched her glide towards him. This would be how he would remember her. Her arm slid through Robb's as she reached them, smiling sweetly.

"Quite a vision Ghost will be at the Wall. Those blood red eyes will frighten all of the giants and white walkers away for certain."

He didn't know what to say really. And he knew that she didn't either, her sarcasm seemed to be her coping mechanism.

"I could not think of a better companion, myself." Robb's smile widened, his eyes surveying the albino direwolf.

"I've always wanted to stand on the wall. Standing on the edge of our world. I've always wanted to go north of the Wall, to the Land of Always-Winter." Arabelle's smile dimmed, her eyes lost and glazing over.

"It would be my honour to accompany you one day, my lady." Jon smiled, his eyes never meeting hers lest they betray his feelings.

"Always the explorer." Robb smiled down at the fox on his arm, nudging her slightly.

Arabelle snapped back, her eyes meeting Robb's fleetingly before smiling and looking to the ground. Before long he felt her eyes upon him, watching his face as he adjusted a strap on his saddle as to avoid the tension he felt building.

"I wish you the best, Jon."

He turned slightly to face her again, his hands still grasping the straps on his saddle.

"And I you, Arabelle."

* * *

She had said her farewells to the Starks, the royal party and her own family. The Queen had already retired to her carriage with her youngest children, leaving the King and his eldest along with Ned and his daughters to farewell the Benefort men. Catelyn had not come down to join them, instead staying by Bran's bedside. The King and Ned embraced Lord Alyn Benefort, saying farewell to their brother of heart.

"How you managed to raise such a fine lass as this one, Al, I'll never know." The King had groggily chuckled, kissing Arabelle's hand. He clapped Doran and Robb on their backs and ruffled little Rickon's hair. Then just like that, he had turned around with Ned, Alyn and Doran in toe to mount their horses and leave Winterfell for their destinations; the Nightfort for the Benefort men, and the capitol for all of the rest.

Arabelle had spent the better part of that day playing with Rickon to distract him from the absence of his father. She had run with him on her back through the godswood, her navy blue dress now spattered with the earthy tones of mud. Rickon would run around with arms wide, pretending to be a bird, and then examined all of the rocks he could find.

"I thought I'd find you two out here." Came Theon's voice from behind them. "Over here." He yelled, gesturing behind him.

Arabelle slid the rock Rickon was showing her back in to the boys palm before pushing herself up, watching as Theon closed the distance between them.

"Raven came for you today. From Lady Elizanda Wyllsand." He handed her the message, still bound with the owl-engraved stamp of house Wyllsand. Her mother's house.

"Wonder what that old crone wants." Theon smirked. Arabelle's hands tightened in to a fist, her eyes meeting his like daggers. "Theon, cut it out." Robb muttered, trudging through the mud to meet them.

She broke the seal and unravelled the scroll, her eyes skimming through the parchment.

_My beloved Belle,_

_I have thought of you every day since we last met. Though I may not see you as often as your cousins, I hold you very dear to my heart. I am writing you under circumstances I wish I would not have to, but there is no one I trust more with this missive. I have had visions these last few weeks in my dreams, and I do not want to cause you alarm when I say they have disturbed me. I cannot say more until I see you, so when you receive this letter I will already have set north._

_I wish I could say more, but until we meet, I am afraid I must be cryptic. I have also sent word to your mother that I am coming, as I understand she is to stay in Winterfell with Lady Stark._

_And I am disappointed, my child, that it was your mother who sent word of your betrothal to me and not you._

_I wish you well, child. I am looking forward to meeting this Stark boy._

_All of my love,_

_Your Noma._

"What does it say?" Theon smirk grew more toothy. "She's had a new cane made?"

"Oh hells, Theon. You don't shut up do you?" Robb groaned, walking over to pick Rickon up and stand beside his future lady wife. "Is everything okay?"

Arabelle closed the letter and tucked it down her sleeve, smiling up at him and tapping Rickon on the nose.

"Fine, fine. Nothing is wrong."

"…But?" Robb questioned. Her tone did not betray that there was much more to the letter than that.

"My… my grandmother is coming to visit."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think and review :)


	8. seven

**A/N**: An even longer update as a thanks for everyones patience! Elizanda finally appears and I hope you all like her. I wrote this up quickly whilst procrastinating my last two assignments. I hope you enjoy, please leave some reviews and let me know what you think!

* * *

**eight**

* * *

She saw Robb pacing in the shadows, his hand to his forehead and his breathing slow. He sighed in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at it. He was roaming not far from Bran's room, so it did not take much for Arabelle to piece it all together. The royal party had left and in their wake were large fee's for the all of the extravagancies thrown for their visit. The Poole's had gone south with Ned and the girls, leaving the bills for Catelyn to manage. However, Catelyn had not left her young son's side for more than an hour at a time.

"Is everything okay, my lord?" Arabelle approached from the dark corner she had perched herself in.

Robb flinched slightly in shock, one arm dropping to his side whilst the other hovered still over his head. "Oh, Gods. You've taken me by surprise, Benefort."

Arabelle smirked slightly as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ears. She'd always been able to manipulate the darkness, oft the winner of any hiding and seeking games as a child. Back in the Nightfort, she was renowned for scaring the guards and servants when she would just appear out of the darkness. She had thought that in another life, perhaps she would have been a good thief.

"You'd best get used to it, my lord."

He smiled, though his eyes did not betray his inner turmoil. "I don't suppose I ever will." He met her eyes, his eyebrows creasing ever so slightly. "Please, do not call me lord. I will always be Robb to you."

"You will always be the boy with sticks in his hair and dirt on his cheek to me."

"And you will always be the girl covered in mud, following me and mine around the castle."

"Well it was either you lot or babies."

Robb chuckled, his laughter dying out as the moment dragged on. His eyes grew sad once more, looking to the door that separated them from a crippled child and his mother.

"What troubles you?" Arabelle's brows furrowed and she took Robb's hand in to her own, covering his hand with both of hers.

Robb's eyes flickered around and he swallowed, looking to his feet. "She's barely left his side since it happened. There is already a new moon. It's like she's in a trance and it won't be broken until Bran wakes." He looked her in the eyes. "She's abandoned her own duties, as a mother and as Lady of Winterfell. You know this; Rickon follows either of us day and night and cries for his family. She can't keep at this."

Arabelle looked to their hands, caressing his with her thumb as she listened to him. She could understand his frustration; he had suddenly been left with the responsibility of the entire castle in just a week, unsupervised. Sure, he had been taught basic noble duties but it was the first time he had held the castle as lord.

"I know, Robb. I know." She looked up from their hands and tried to meet his eyes, her brows creased with concern. "But it is difficult to understand what she feels, watching her little boy lie helplessly, his fate determined by the Gods. Everyone copes with grief differently." Arabelle nodded in the general direction that the guest chambers were. "My mother is here to care for Cat. If you need assistance with the costs of the royal visit, consult with her. She can teach you. Nevertheless, as far as other appointments go, you are the Lord of Winterfell. You must keep them." She dropped the hand that lay on top of his and squeezed with her other. "You have me. I will do what I can to help."

Robb sighed and squeezed her hand in return, his eyes watching their hands. "When did you become such a lady?" The corners of his mouth curled slightly before he lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing it softly. "I'll go speak with her." Arabelle smiled. "I'll be waiting."

Footsteps echoed down the halls as Maester Luwin approached, his hands crossed and finding solace in each of his sleeves. His expression was plain as he approached the young couple, stopping next to Robb. Arabelle's hand untied itself from Robb's as she smiled politely at the Maester.

"I've come to speak with your lady mother, my lord." The Maester bowed his head slightly, gesturing towards Bran's door.

"I'll join you soon." Robb replied, nodding his approval to the Maester.

Maester Luwin bowed once more before pushing open the heavy wooden door.

Robb sighed, running a hand through his auburn hair whilst the other met his hip. "I do hope you'll wish me luck in there." He smirked ever so slightly.

Arabelle smirked brushing a stubborn lock of hair once more behind her ear. "Good luck. And after I'll have you escort me to the kitchens so we can stuff our bellies with all sorts of sweets." Robb laughed as he dropped his arms to his side, stepping towards the door. "I quite like the sound of that."

She stood there for a few minutes in silence, the only noise she heard were those of the three direwolves howling every now and again. She leant against the cold cobbled stone, her thoughts drowning out the direwolve's wails. The door creaked open and Maester Luwin crept out, bowing his head to Arabelle as he went on his way down the cold and dark halls. Then Robb came running out, grasping Arabelle by the shoulders.

"Fire, there's a fire! You stay here, I'll come back!" He bounded down the dark stairs, and Arabelle ran just meters to the end of the hall, peering out the small window. The wolves were growing louder by the second, though Arabelle swore she could only hear two rather than the three she would expect.

Arabelle ran her fingers through her hair, gripping at it and grunting as she bent over, falling down to sit against the stone. She had been repressing every single memory she had of Jon, yet at some moments when she touched Robb she felt guilty. Gods knew that it would take a lot of time and a lot of wine for her to move on. Robb was so noble, one of the most genuine of any great lord or lady she had ever met. He was honourable to a fault, Arabelle was not truly sure that she had ever seen him betray that honour. Though Jon too had inherited it from their lord father, she knew that he had drawn a line. A line that he wasn't afraid to cross.

Arabelle perked up as she heard the grunts and many footsteps of what could only be one of the wolf pups, and from Bran's room she heard a loud slamming noise of what she assumed was furniture. "What in the hells?" She said, pushing herself up as Summer leaped up the stairs, not even looking to acknowledge the Benefort girl. Arabelle ran to the heavy wooden door with the wolf, Summer nudging the corner of the door as to make his way in. She pushed the damned thing open with all her might and almost fell in to the room as the door opened.

Catelyn was sprawled on the floor, her hands bloodied and face moulded with shock. A man clad in grey chains and dark leathers stood over her with a dagger in hand, looking from her to the young wolf boy asleep in his bed. Summer ran in almost instantly and jumped at the man, tearing at his throat in the time it had taken Arabelle to bend and draw the small dagger she kept strapped in her boot.

Arabelle ran to Catelyn, holding her by the arms as Summer ripped out the throat of the stranger, his body writhing around in a desperate attempt to throw the wolf from him. Through just a quick glance, she could see that Catelyn's hands had been cut to the bone.

The stranger's movements had stopped, his hand falling limp to his side. Catelyn and Arabelle looked on in shock as Summer smacked his snout and jumped on to the bed, lying next to Bran protectively and whimpering.

"You were right... my lady. Bran did not fall."

* * *

Lady Elizanda Wyllsand had strolled through the gates just before dawn, accompanied only by the captain of the Wyllsand house guard and Arabelle's two cousins, Mathis and Alerie. Marieysa had woken Arabelle just minutes before, rushing her out in to the courtyard to greet her family. She had gone to bed only an hour or two before, having spent hours in the larder with Robb. He had gone to speak with Ser Rodrick after the assassination attempt, posting more guards in the castle and more intense searches as people entered Winterfell. Hours later, so late at night in fact that the kitchens had been abandoned, they had stationed themselves with left-over desert and had talked about everything, from their families to childhood to the Free Cities and beyond. Robb couldn't stop smiling the entire night, his grin was contagious. It felt good that she could make him smile in what had been such a dark time.

Arabelle had fallen asleep in the same leathers she had worn the day before, her appearance looking more like a soldier off-duty than a noble lady, so she threw her coat around her and brushed her hair with her fingers before leaving her room. As she came to the courtyard she saw Robb, his coat concealing what she assumed was what he had been wearing just hours before too. She fell in line with him and Marieysa, Catelyn still staying in her son's quarters.

"I had not expected your grandmother to arrive at such an early hour." Robb smirked, though she could tell he was somewhat annoyed at having been awakened so early.

"She always makes quite the entrance." Marieysa rolled her eyes, brushing through her shoulder-length blonde hair with her fingers and ruffling it slightly at her roots. "Common courtesy isn't a strong suite of my mother's, unfortunately."

Robb chuckled and threw his arm around Arabelle's shoulder as she approached, drawing her in close to his side. "How are you feeling?" He looked down at her concerned. She was still somewhat shaken from last night, the realisation that Bran had not truly fallen. Why would someone want him dead if he had fallen?

In truth, she had been feeling uneasy until a few minutes ago. Her grandmother would not have travelled had her visions not been dire. Though she was glad to be seeing her family again, it was worrying the circumstances under which they would meet. Elizanda entered first, her long silver-grey hair peaking out under her hood in a long plait. Her white mare slowed their approach, the other's horses following suit. Arabelle rushed over to help her grandmother off her horse, taking her hand and holding the reigns of her mare.

"Oh Belle you really mustn't, I may be old but I am not yet decrepit." Elizanda muttered as she took her granddaughter's hand, sliding herself off her horse.

"She says as she grips my hand for dear life." Mathis and Marieysa laughed, the quiet Alerie managing a smirk. Robb's face remained neutral, so as not to offend the great Elizanda Wyllsand, Arabelle presumed.

"And she insisted we come at this ungodly hour." Mathis laughed, moving over to greet his cousin. "Ari." He grinned, hugging his cousin tightly.

"I do not envy you the pleasure of having travelled with dearest Noma." Arabelle smirked, holding her cousin close. "It is good to see you, cousins."

"Is it not good to see me?" Elizanda barked, outstretching her arms to invite Arabelle to hug her. Arabelle brought a finger to her chin and mocked hesitation before a grin spread across her face and she hugged her grandmother tightly. Arabelle witnessed Marieysa greeting her niece and nephew over her grandmother's shoulder, closing her eyes shortly as she breathed in that familiar scent of roses.

Elizanda's eyes set upon the young man standing behind her granddaughter, his left hand grabbing his wrist and standing tall. He was smiling politely at the family reunion but his smile receded as he met eyes with the old lady Wyllsand. Her golden eyes were piercing, much like the owl of the Wyllsand crest. "And what do we have here?"

She let go of her granddaughter, slowly approaching the tall auburn-haired man. Arabelle quickly came to Robb's side, standing almost between her grandmother and her betrothed.

"My lady." He bowed deeply, taking the old woman's wrinkled hand and kissing it softly before rising again to meet her eyes. "It is my honour-"

"Don't bother with the act, my child." Elizanda smirked, still staring the boy directly in the eyes.

"You are Robb Stark, heir apparent to Winterfell. This is Winterfell. It is your honour as current Lord of Winterfell to welcome me to your home, wonderful."

"It is my honour to meet you, Lady Wyllsand, as it is my honour to meet someone who my lady cherishes so dearly. I was meaning to say that I can now see where the lovely ladies of Benefort received their beauty, but now I also see where they get their smarts and wit."

Elizanda paused, eyeing the Stark boy curiously. She leant in to her granddaughter, her eyes never leaving Robb's. "This one. I like this one."

* * *

"I have seen terrible things, my dear. Terribly vague, but terrible nonetheless." Elizanda leant over to reach for her mug of boiled herbs, leaves dancing around as the water moved. "Of the many things I have seen, I must say that you are an anomaly, my dear."

"An anomaly?" Arabelle asked, holding her warm mug between her hands.

"You are always hooded. You seem to be the only person aware that I am watching. Perhaps because I am about to tell you, that you would know in the future."

Elizanda sipped at her tea before looking to her granddaughter. "I have seen a stag disembowelled by a lion, a family of lions. Lions provoking wolves. I fear for your safety here, dearest one."

Arabelle brought her mug to her lap, her eyes following the leaves as they bounced around the mug. "You have a menagerie inside your mind, it appears."

"Arabelle Benefort, you know damn well of what I speak. I saw a fox with navy fur running south."

"A Benefort going south? It is not unheard of, Noma."

"One step below the trident and it is the lion's den. What I have seen, whilst cryptic, you have always had a vital part to play." Elizanda leaned over to take her granddaughters hand. "I fear there is nothing I can do to prevent what is to come. That lies with you, dear one."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You will be like me, dearest. Though, I am no greenseer. I-"

Heels clicking upon stone broke the silence that had ensued, Elizanda's gaze leaving her Belle to meet the incessant clicker of heel. "Arabelle, I would speak with you." Lady Catelyn Stark stood at the door of the chamber, her hands hiding in either sleeve. "Greetings, Lady Wyllsand. A pleasure." She spoke nonchalantly.

"I…" Arabelle placed the mug on the small table by her side, standing and brushing the dirt from her linen pants. "I am sorry, my lady, I am quite busy." It seems Lady Stark had lost her manners along with her sense, Arabelle thought.

"Nonsense, my dear, you go speak with our Lady host. I will be here when you return." Elizanda smiled and raised her mug as her approval.

Arabelle smiled slightly and walked towards Catelyn, gesturing for the lady to walk in front of her. "It's good to see you walking around, my lady." She smiled, placing a hand on her future mother in law's back. "What can I be of assistance with?"

Catelyn's face did not move, her eyes focused ahead with such purpose. "I would walk with you, and talk about what happened last night." Arabelle's expression grew grim, throwing her head back and followed Lady Stark silently.

It was difficult to make conversation with Catelyn, he eyes never straying from her path. She was not her usual self, her skin was pale and though it seemed that she had finally washed what was oil-drenched hair, her exhaustion was betrayed by lines gathering under her eyes. Arabelle had never seen Catelyn like this, she usually played a doting aunt to her.

After what Arabelle had assumed was half of an hour of walking, the two stood before the broken tower. Arabelle's eyes flicked to where she and Arya had found Bran weeks ago, his broken body burned in to her mind. "I was going to come later, with Robb." Arabelle said, following Catelyn through to the shambled stone frame of what used to be a door. "I did not believe Bran had fallen. No one believed that Bran had fallen. He wouldn't have had an attempt on his life had he fallen. No, he saw something, someone, that he wasn't supposed to have seen."Catelyn's voice was monotonous, her brows furrowed with a purpose in her eyes.

Arabelle followed Catelyn up the winding stairs, coming out on to the floor in which they assumed he had fallen from. Any higher and he would surely have been killed. Arabelle stood at the window of the room, her fingers tracing the vines covering the frame; an area of at least three inches on the outside vines had been stripped of any green. "Arabelle…" Catelyn spoke, Arabelle's head looking over to her companion. Catelyn rose slowly, turning and holding something so fine that Arabelle could not even see it herself.

She took a few steps to Catelyn, seeing that she was holding a hair. A long, fair hair. Arabelle stretched it between her two hands from root to tip; to be sure her eyes were not playing tricks. Her grandmothers words ran circles in her mind. "Lions provoking wolves."


	9. eight

**A/N**: Literally two chapters after I say I won't rewrite a scene… I go and rewrite a scene. My aim is to have more OC-centric scenes as I still follow the canon just with an added character. I didn't really see any other way to do it, as I believe that Arabelle having been with Catelyn for both the assassination attempt and revelation of the blonde hair that she deserved to be at that small meet. So here you go, please don't hate me! I have the next chapter written up so the more reviews you leave the sooner I will post it :) Enjoy!

* * *

**nine**

* * *

The tall trees and their leaves left the forest dark even in the midst of day, the wide bodies of the trees usually splitting in two or three and sprawling in different directions. They were beautiful, Arabelle thought. Each one never alike to another. The weirwood stood out like a sore thumb, its snow-white bark a stark contrast to the earthy brown and green tones that surrounded it. The blood-red leaves against the white reminded her of Ghost. And then Jon. She had not received any word of Jon in the weeks since he had left. She only hoped that the fabled Night's Watch was everything he hoped.

Arabelle stood in her leathers, an outfit she felt most comfortable in. No one would think a woman to wear linen breeches rather than a skirt, especially not a lady. She drew her cloak over her shoulders, the fur collar brushing her ears softly.

"What's all this then?" Ser Rodrik approached, his white-grey whiskers tied below his chin and bobbed with his every step. His shoulders were broad and his face stern, lips thin and eyebrows seemingly always scowling. Though an old man, Arabelle would pity any fool who would challenge the old Master-at-Arms.

"Lady Catelyn is further in to the wood, behind the weirwood tree." Arabelle's voice was soft as she gestured beyond the weirwood, inviting Rodrik to step first.

"I am almost hesitant to ask what is wrong, my lady." The whiskered man spoke, his eyebrows still not letting up. "It is not oft I am called away to the middle of the woods for a meet."

"Then that is almost impeccable luck, Ser. I fear you are right that the circumstance of this meet is foreboding, though I would not speak before Lady Stark addresses us."

They walked for only a minute or two, and Arabelle was concerned that they were still too close to the castle. Though the godswood was a good walk from the castle, was it far enough that their whispers would not travel?

The twosome approached the four figures, Lady Catelyn standing on higher ground near a moss-covered rock, Maester Luwin by her side. Robb stood just below her, Theon on lower ground than him. Rodrik fell next to the Maester as they arrived, Theon shuffled at the least to allow Arabelle to fall in line with her betrothed. She did not meet Catelyn's eye, instead looking to the ground and wrapping her arms around Robb's own. Robb placed the hand of his free arm on Arabelle's gently, squeezing it with reassurance.

"Everyone is here now, mother. What have you to say to us outside the castle walls?"

Catelyn swallowed hard, looking to her feet before lifting her gaze back to the group before her. "What I am about to tell you must remain between us." She met Arabelle's eyes, pausing momentarily. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown." Her eyes scanned the five before her.

"The boy was always sure-footed before." Maester Luwin looked to Rodrik, whispering audibly enough for the rest to hear.

"Someone tried to kill him twice, Why? Why murder an innocent child?" Catelyn continued, her eyes once more meeting Arabelle's.

"We think he saw something he was not supposed to. Lady Stark said that when the assassin came to Bran, he said that she was not supposed to be there. It was for Bran." Arabelle's eyes could not meet the others, her grip on Robb's arm tightening.

"And just what would he have seen?" Theon asked, his face for once not twisted mischievously. He was genuinely perplexed.

"I don't know." Catelyn sighed, her eyes staring somewhere between Rodrik and Theon. "But I'd stake my life the Lannister's are behind it. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown."

"Did you notice the dagger the killer used?" Rodrik spoke, pulling the dagger from his belt. "It's too fine a weapon for such a man." He unsheathed the weapon, showing the group the silvered blade.

"Valyrian steel. A rare blade. Incredibly so. Either it's an heirloom or it was melted down from one." Arabelle spoke, her eyes focused on a rock by Maester Luwin's feet.

"They come in to our home.. and try to murder my brother. If it's war they want.." Robb's tone was icy, his anger meeting a head. Arabelle loosed her grip on his arms, sliding a hand down to hold his.

"If it comes to that you know I'll stand behind you." Theon stood forward, eyes set firmly on Robb.

"What? Is there to be a battle in the godswood?" The Maester's brows rose, questionably, his tone drenched in mockery. "Too easily words of war bring about acts of war. We do not know the truth yet."

"The Lannister's are the real power behind the thrown. Robert is a whoring drunkard, who do you think really rules the Seven Kingdoms?" Arabelle looked up to Robb, gripping his hand tightly. "Your father and sisters are in their grasp. Do not do something you would regret, my love." Robb looked to her and sighed, squeezing her hand gently in return.

Arabelle's thoughts drifted to Tyrion. To the day, he had followed her to the weirwood tree, just yards from where they stood now. When she had mentioned Bran, he met her with a silence, a look that betrayed his own thoughts. She had admired the dwarf; his intelligence and sarcastic demeanour intrigued her. Part of her hoped very dearly that this was not the work of Lannisters, or that at the very least the Imp was not involved.

"Lord Stark must be told of this." The Maester looked to Catelyn, the lines on his foreheads deepening.

"I don't trust a raven to carry these words." Catelyn whispered, shaking her head.

"I'll ride to King's Landing." Robb volunteered, letting go of Arabelle's hand.

"No. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." His mother protested.

"Cat.. surely you won't.." Arabelle took a step forward, her eyes finally meeting that of the auburn-haired lady.

"I will go with my cousins. I have plain enough clothes and strong enough steel." Arabelle looked deeply in to Catelyn's eyes.

"No, I will not have you at any risk for my family, Ari." Arabelle turned to look Robb in the eyes, his own pleading with hers.

"I will soon be calling your family my own, Robb."

Catelyn sighed before looking to Arabelle. "Robb is right, Arabelle. You are to be wed, and should anything happen to you I would not forgive myself."

Arabelle huffed in disagreement, her eyes flickering between Catelyn and the stream behind her. "I am more than capable."

"Of that I have no doubt. But I need you in the North." Catelyn smiled and took the hand of her son's betrothed. "I have loved you were my own. But this is something I must do alone."

"Not alone. I'll send Howe and a squad of guardsman with you." Rodrik shuffled his feet, his face as stern as always.

Catelyn shook her head. "Too large a party attracts unwanted attention. I don't want the Lannisters to know I am coming."

"Let me accompany you at least. The Kingsroad is a dangerous place for a woman alone." Rodrik's eyes were pleading as Catelyn herself looked to Maester Luwin. The Maester looked to Catelyn, clearly disagreeing her plan. But he nodded his approval, Catelyn looking to Rodrik and accepting his offer.

"But what about Bran?" Robb asked. His face had slumped in defeat; he knew he would not get through to his mother.

"I have done all I have for Bran. His fate lies with the Seven now."

* * *

"It was not meant to be you, dearest one. Your place is here, for now." Elizanda smiled softly, holding her granddaughters hand across the parlour table.

Arabelle smacked her dry lips, looking to the hand that interlocked with her own. "I would not wish Lady Stark to be exposed on the Kingsroad. I travel swiftly and quietly. I fear for her safety." It had been two weeks since Catelyn had left with Ser Rodrik, Alerie left with Mathias the morning after saying they had not intended to stay for long, leaving their grandmother with her captain of the guard. They had said their goodbyes to their cousin, remarking on how much she had grown. Arabelle and Doran were the youngest of their cousins by at least eight years, oft getting such comments.

Lady Wyllsand's golden eyes looked up at her granddaughter, wisps of grey hair falling over her face. "It is what must be." She brought her other hand to cover her granddaughters, mindlessly caressing it as her eyes glazed over. "I sent Alerie to follow them. She is much as quiet as you and knows the Kingsroad well."

"I do not wish to deceive the mother of my betrothed." Arabelle muttered, staring at the hands that enveloped her own.

Elizanda tutted, smiling subtly. "Not deceit. Think of it as help."

She hesitated before sighing and nodding her agreement. It would be good to have eyes and ears in the south. At the very least, if anything happened Arabelle would receive word. The Stark girls were in the lion's den. She could only help but pray that Lord Stark could protect his girls.

"I know about the bastard boy." Elizanda whispered, her eyes never lifting from her hands.

Arabelle's gaze shot up to her grandmother, her eyes wide and ears tingling. "Noma, I promise you I didn't-" Elizanda hushed, brushing the hand she held in hers. "I know, child. I know."

Arabelle's cheeks were burning, a flush beginning to spread over her. She did not know what to say. "Did you love him?"

And for the life of her, she did not know. She cared for Jon deeply despite not having had much time with him, but was it love? She did not believe herself so naïve as to confuse care and love. "I felt strongly for him." She whispered her hand limp as it was caressed with the soft wrinkled hands of Elizanda.

"Sometimes I think you are far older than your eighteen years, child." She smirked, looking Arabelle in the eyes. "Too smart for your own good."

Arabelle averted her gaze, looking to their hands once more. Her cheeks still burned, a pang of guilt striking her. "That is the past. I know my place."

Elizanda laughed, lifting a hand to brush a piece of hair behind Arabelle's ear. "Oh, child, that I do not doubt. You are so much like your father. You know your duty, even if you do not agree with it."

"He knows his, too, Noma." She whispered, her free hand meeting her grandmother's upon her face. "You have nothing to fear."

"Oh, my sweet, sweet child. It is not that of which I fear."

"And what is it that you fear?" Arabelle asked quietly.

"I fear for the future. The demise of one of my kin, the wars that have year to happen. I fear for soldiers fighting wars they do not want a part in. I fear the north, I fear the creatures songs are sung about." She squeezed her granddaughters hands and looked in to her eyes. "I fear for you going south." After a moment, Elizanda smiled, taking back her hands and standing slowly. "We will talk more tomorrow. For now, I must retire to my quarters. Elizanda brushed down her skirts as Arabelle stood, walking over to kiss her grandmother goodnight. She pecked the old seer's cheek before walking her to the door. She looked to the fire that roared in the middle of her room as her grandmother left, the dancing orange lights flickering wildly.

"I did not expect to see you roaming around the halls so late at night, boy." Her grandmother's voice came from the hall.

"As I did not expect to see you, Lady Wyllsand. Good evening." Robb's voice echoed and Arabelle's eyes flicked from the flames to the dimly lit auburn-haired man standing over the small grey-haired grandmother of hers. A huge smile spread across his face, he was practically buzzing.

"I am so very glad the boy has awoken." Elizanda smiled warmly and reached up to tug at Robb's cheek. "This is wonderful news for your family." She nodded to him and walked off down the hall, leaving Robb staring blankly at where she had been. His eyes averted to Arabelle standing in the doorway of her chambers, smirking at him.

"Bran awoke not an hour past, how did she-"

"She seems to know everything, my dear Noma." He frowned for a moment before shaking his head, his smile returning as he approached the doorframe in which Arabelle stood. "Two moons later and he has awoken. I can scarcely believe it." Robb scratched the back of his head. "I would not question it." She smiled, crossing her arms and leaning against the frame of the door.

"That is wonderful news, Robb. I'll visit him in the morn, I doubt he would want me sneaking in to his chambers to tell him stories at this time of night."

"I think you'd be surprised, Benefort. He thinks the world of you."

Arabelle let loose a quick chuckle, looking up at those Tully-blue eyes. "And I of him."

Robb leant against the doorframe in much the same manner as she, looking down at her. She avoided her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes. "I can see why he does." She could hear a smile spread across his lips, gods he could be so smug. "You have a brilliant mind."

"That makes a change. Usually I'm complimented on my looks. How refreshing." They both laughed, Arabelle looking up at the tousled mop of curly auburn hair. She could not deny that he was a handsome man. His shoulders were broad and body muscular from the hours of swordplay he committed to. "I suppose you're sort of pretty." Robb smirked, nudging he softly with his elbow. "My thanks! I suppose you're sort of handsome." She over exaggeratedly nudged him back. Their laughs died out slowly, smiles fading slightly as they looked each other in the eyes.

"Thank you, Ari. For taking care of my family." He whispered, shuffling his stance against the frame of the door.

Arabelle swallowed back the moisture from her mouth. "It is my womanly duty." She whispered, just as sarcastically as she had said it before.

"No, it isn't. That is why you have my thanks. You were willing to put your life at risk for my mother. You and your mother cared for mine for weeks, you have fed and bathed and played with Rickon. You have done so much for my family." His eyes were passionate, brows creased as he spoke with a measure of disbelief. "You're incredible." He whispered.

"Stark's and Benefort's have been close allies for centuries." Arabelle muttered, lowering her eyes to her feet. She felt a pang of guilt strike her. She had on some level been doing all of this to prove herself to the Stark's, as if they had already known of her indiscretion.

"Don't." Robb rolled his eyes. "You aren't under any obligation because of our houses' loyalties." He whispered, shifting slowly to lean over her. "You are far too kind." His voice was barely a whisper. He leant in further, pressing his lips to Arabelle's forehead. "Goodnight, Benefort."


	10. nine

**A/N**: Heeeeyy guys…

So.. I haven't updated for a long time. And I promise I have good reasons!

I have been going through a lot of personal stuff – but I've also been travelling. A lot.

In July I was volunteering in Cambodia and never had the time to sit down and take a break, and I was home for a week before venturing off to America for awhile and I'm currently hanging out in Canada. I had some time today to write a little update for you all so I hope you enjoy it. I may have rewritten a scene again, but I felt it was a good way to show the ease with which Arabelle can switch off her emotions and get to the nitty gritty political mind games.

I'll be home on the 3rd of September before heading off to Cambodia/Thailand/Laos on the 4th of October again, so look out for updates in that week! I hope you're all well :)

* * *

**ten**

* * *

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell."

"Any man of the Night's Watch... but not I, eh, boy?" A familiar voice sounded throughout the halls of Winterfell, only just louder than Arabelle's footsteps.

"I'm not your boy, Lannister." Robb spat.

"You are most certainly welcome in Winterfell, my lord of Lannister." Arabelle's voice was loud as she glided in to the room; surprisingly she was in a dress for once. She had been given enough notice of Tyrion's arrival that her handmaidens had whisked her off to her room to dress her fit for receiving him. Arabelle's eyes flickered to Robb's, a look that tried to tell him to stifle his anger.

"You must forgive my love his _, my lord. These last few months have been difficult, he has been under far more stress than we are used to in the North." Arabelle's smile was sweet, her movements graceful as she came to stand behind her betrothed, placing one hand on the back of the wooden chair in which he sat and the only rested softly on his shoulder.

Tyrion smiled at her, bowing his head. "My lady Benefort, you look radiant as ever."

"You flatter me, my lord." Arabelle squeezed Robb's shoulder gently; she could feel how tense his muscles were even through his thick fur coat. Before she could speak again, a large door opened on the left of the room, and in came Hodor, a simpleton stable boy who had largely become Bran's means of transport, cradling Bran in his arms. Theon filtered in behind them, closing the door.

Tyrion's head whipped around to the noise, his eyes wide and jaw gaping. "So its true."

Hodor moved with Bran up to Tyrion's side, in front of the long table where Arabelle was perched behind Robb and Maester Luwin. Robb tensed harder, clearly not liking the fact that his brother was so close to a man that could very well have made an attempt on his life.

"Do you remember anything about what happened?" Tyrion asked, his face blank other than a burning curiosity behind his eyes. That face was not the face of a guilty man, Arabelle thought. However, the golden-haired Lion definitely knew more than he let on.

Maester Luwin interjected. "He has no memory of that day." The old Maester disguised his contempt with much more ease than the Stark heir, having had years of practice in his courtly demeanour. Arabelle could only hope to guide Robb in the same way; his Stark honour did not exactly set him up to be a great player in the brutal games of court.

"Curious…" Tyrion trailed off, his eyes briefly meeting Arabelle's before averting to the floor in front of him.

"Why are you here?" Robb growled, leaning forward slightly in his seat. Arabelle was not used to seeing him so serious – he looked his age in this setting. He wasn't the boy that used to push her in the mud and run around in the dirt with her. Arabelle dug her nails in to his shoulder. _Be courteous you fool._

Tyrion side-eyed Robb, asserting his focus on to Bran. He looked Hodor up and down before focusing back on Bran. "Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel? My neck is beginning to hurt." Tyrion's tone was somewhat sarcastic, which angered Robb more. Arabelle wouldn't admit it out loud, but she rather liked that about Tyrion. How carefree and straight to the point he was, much like her lord father. Bran's face was steel, his young and soft features drained of the happiness he was so full of months before. "Kneel, Hodor."

"Do you like to ride, Bran?"

"Yes." He paused, clearly hurt by the question. "Well, I mean I did like to."

Robb scoffed, clearly insulted at the apparent jab at his younger brother's crippled state. "The boy has lost the use of his legs." The Maester called out before Robb could say a word.

Tyrion hardly looked back up to the three behind the table. "What of it? With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I'm not a cripple." Bran muttered.

"Well, then I'm not a dwarf." Tyrion retorted. "My father will rejoice to hear it." Arabelle had to stifle a smirk.

"I have a gift for you. Give that to your saddler, he should provide the rest." Tyrion passed Bran a scroll before he took a step forward towards the table, staring Robb dead in the eyes. Bran's hands picked at the paper, unravelling it as Tyrion smoked. "You must shape the horse to the rider. You can start with a yearling and teach it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice."

"Will I really be able to ride?" Bran's voice was hopeful, though his face showed no signs of it, blankly examining the parchment in front of him.

"You will. On horseback you will be as tall as any of them."

"Is this some kind of trick? Why do you want to help him?" Robb spat, his eyebrows creased and glare intense.

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things." Tyrion said, without any hesitation. Arabelle took her hand away from Robb, instead holding her hands in front of herself and taking a step forward and exchanging smiles with Bran and Tyrion. "Thank you so much, my lord." Arabelle's smile extended from ear to ear, and Robb even perked up slightly having seen the grin on his brother's face.

"You've done my brother a kindness. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours." His tone was still icy, though his scowl has softened. "Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed and both of us can sleep easier." The corner of Arabelle's mouth twitched; she had to admire lord Tyrion's tendency to call people out on their horseshit. He then turned to leave, raising his eyebrows at Arabelle as he left and smiling courteously once more at Bran.

* * *

"Arabelle made you look a fool today, Stark." Theon smirked from across the table before taking a sip of his ale. Robb glared at the Stark ward, his eyes unmoving as he placed a card down on the table. "She did not make me look like a fool." Theon chuckled, placing another card with a horse painted on it down on the table. "She did, and you let her." Theon took a coin from a pile in the middle of the table, his eyes focused on his cards.

He had let his anger get the best of him today, he knew. He knew when Arabelle had touched his shoulder that it was too much. And he so badly wanted to calm down at her urging but his hatred for the Lannister's got the best of him. "She's certainly got a more political mind than I." Robb flipped a card that was facing down on the table, taking it to his hand.

Theon brought a finger to his lips in thought, pausing before taking a card from his deck and placing it over top of the deck. "Despite all of the shit that I give to her, the fox is a smart girl." He smirked before he continued. "And I'm sure half of Westeros is in complete and utter envy of you, being married to her."

Robb smiled, though he was more shocked. Had Theon really just said something nice? Not only that, but about Arabelle? He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, "I do not blame them. She is an incredible girl." Robb threw a card down on to the deck. "She's different. She learnt horseplay and archery above sewing and flattery. She's clever, and driven. Not a day goes by where I am not in awe of her." Robb was slightly taken aback by what he had said – of course; he had always thought all of this. But to talk about Ari with Theon? Theon would usually comment on a woman's endowment and that was it.

"Not to mention she's more than likely the most attractive girl to be born of the North." Theon raised his eyebrow as his smirk deepened. "And she's all yours." There it was. Robb grimaced at that. That she was oft reduced to just her looks, when she was really so much more. But he would be the biggest fool of all if he thought she was not beautiful. "She's more than the man she marries. All women are."

Theon placed his last card and smirked, putting both arms around the coin pile and pulling them towards him. Robb cursed under his breath and threw the rest of his cards down, taking his empty mug of ale and standing up. "You lose again my friend!" Robb threw back the last few drops of ale before walking over to the keg by the door to refill his mug. "You've just caught me on a bad day, Greyjoy."

It was silent save for the gushing of ale and the shuffling of cards in Theon's hand, before Theon cleared his throat. "Do you love her?" Theon asked, his tone almost the same as if he had asked him if he enjoyed the taste of ale.

"I don't know. Do you love Ros?"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Ros is a whore. Whore's don't love."

"Everyone loves."

"Do you?" Theon's eyes were inquisitive, staring straight through Robb.

"I care about her. A lot. And that's all I have to say about that." Robb threw back his ale before slamming the mug on top of the keg. "I'll see you in the morning."

He left the room before Theon could protest; his heels rang on the cold stone floor as he made his way through hallways dimly lit by few torches. He hadn't truly given it much thought. He knew that he was fond of her, that whenever she entered the room his heart skipped a beat. But was that love?

"You are still young, little wolf. I would suggest not dwelling on it too much." A voice croaked from across the hall, inside what was a very lowly lit room. He stopped dead in his tracks, peering across but not quite making out who the voice had come from. "Wha.. what did you say?"

Lady Elizanda Wyllsand stepped in to the light illuminating the entrance to her room, her wrinkled hand gripping a cane with a raven's head carved in to it. A raven for her house, he assumed. Her long grey hair was loosely tied in a braid, falling down her shoulders. He had heard stories of Lady Wyllsand back in her golden days, much the same was said about her as was said about her granddaughter now. Clever, beautiful and sweet. Robb could definitely see the beauty she had in her youth.

"Did I stutter?" She smirked, before nodding down the hallway. "No…, sorry, Lady Wyllsand." He bowed deeply for a few seconds, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, my lady. I did not see you there." He paused, not able to meet her eyes. "Did you hear all of it?" He asked, barely audible.

Elizanda chuckled. "You could say that." She took a step towards Robb, peering up at him under heavy eyelids. "I am glad you revere my daughter so. I would have been hesitant to marry her off to someone who did not recognise her brilliance." She reached up to cup his face in her hand, her eyes searching his. For what, he could not be sure.

"You will take care of her, keep her safe." It wasn't a question. He nodded, his eyes meeting hers. "She is the most precious thing I have in this world, save for her mother and uncle. Don't tell them her cousins I said that." Her eyes wrinkled as she smiled, though it quickly died out. "Darkness is coming for us all, little wolf. She isn't as strong as she would have you believe. You will look out for her." There was something behind her eyes when she spoke of the darkness, but he could not for the life of him figure out quite what that was.

"I will protect her with my life." He took Elizanda's hands in his own, his eyes staring right in to hers. "You have my word, on my honour as a Stark."

Elizanda chuckled, smiling sweetly up at the tall Auburn-haired wolf. "A Stark's honour! Now that's an oath if I've ever been sworn one." She took her hands away from his, glancing down the hallway. "Now, my boy. I can smell the ale on your breath from here. You'd best go lie down, god forbid that all goes straight to your sensible head." She turned back in to her room, glancing back once more devilishly before closing the door behind her.

* * *

NEXT ONE WILL BE OUT IN THE NEXT 24 HOURS PLEASE REVIEW BECAUSE THATS WHAT KEEPS ME GOING 3


	11. ten

**A/N: **As promised here is another update! Next one will be out in the next week or so (hopefully, if I'm not too busy in Ottawa then NYC!), please leave reviews because they really do keep me going. Constructive or otherwise, getting those little comments makes me feel like the time I put in to this story is worth it and motivates me to get it out for you guys. I hope you enjoy this, and damn I need to stop rewriting scenes!

* * *

**eleven**

* * *

The fire was dying out, the flames barely licking the logs as they had been in the hours before. Arabelle had strewn herself across the lounge chair, her heavy linen bed robes draped across the chair and hair in much the same fashion having been scrubbed clean during her bath. Her nose was buried in a book that she hadn't cared to remember the title of, mindless blathering about the politics of Essos. It was a distraction, at least.

Arabelle had spent the day with Bran, accompanying him to the stables to show their gifted diagram of Bran's new saddle and taking measurements. The boy was excited, though she could see the hesitation in his eyes. Part of him probably thought it was too good to be true.

She had considered leaving the castle at night, sneaking out to go and visit their Lannister guest. She was interested in hearing what he would have to say – why would he make such a grand gesture? What did he have to gain from this?

But no. She suspected it was not wise to corner him. Instead, she decided she might have a night to catch her breath. She sighed and craned her head back, placing the book over her face. The last night she had a night like this to herself was the night before she found out about Jon Arryn's passing. She had curled up in the furs of her bed and enjoyed a hot-spiced tea with a book discussing the many languages of Westeros.

She missed the Nightfort, missed her father and her brother. The idea of not being able to run in to her brothers room at sunrise to scream and wake him, not hanging around in the kitchens hoping that Mrs Flynnt would give her some scraps, not being able to trick new recruits of the guard in to a round or two of archery. She missed home. And she missed Jon.

She hadn't had much time to think of him since he left. She was constantly busy, always on her feet trying to do what she could to help at Winterfell. Maybe she was looking for distractions.

Robb had been so good to her, making sure she was fed and watered when she would oft forget. He'd break fast with her every morning, the two of them laughing over childhood stories and managing to evade any talk of their impending marriage. It was good to have that time alone with him, to just be childhood friends. She could be marrying far worse than he.

Though Arabelle had taken to acting the part of a young lady foolishly in love with her betrothed lord, Robb had appeared more uncomfortable with her actions. When she would touch him, he would often stiffen. Only once had he genuinely reciprocated her touch, when he had gripped her hand weeks before at the meet with Lady Stark. When she had tried to stifle his anger.

That he didn't want to touch her intrigued Arabelle – she would be ignorant if she said that most men would drop to their knees for the chance to have her wrap her arms around them. But Robb wasn't like that. It almost felt like a challenge.

A rasp came from the door, and whoever it was cleared their throat. The noise suddenly drew Arabelle from her thoughts, jumping and managing to drop her book in the process. She sat up and stared at the door, her eyes briefly flickering to the book on the floor. It was beyond late, who would want her at this time of night? There was a knock again. "One minute!" Arabelle grabbed the book from the floor and placed it on the end table next to her cup of tea in front of her chair, gathering her skirts and heading towards the door.

* * *

The door opened, and Arabelle took a split second to realise who it was. Robb smiled warmly down at her, his curly auburn hair looking more unkempt than usual. "Good evening."

Arabelle was lost for words, peering her head out in to the hall and looking back and forth before pulling Robb in to the room with her. Robb jerked forward and smirked as he took a few steps in to the room toward the fireplace. Arabelle pushed the heavy wooden door closed, turning around with and leaning against it for a second. "What in gods names were you thinking, Robb? If anyone had seen you come to my quarters so late at night…" Her eyebrows were creased as she lifted herself off the door with her palms, walking towards her cold pot of tea. "People talk, Winterfell is no exception to that."

She walked over to the fire, placing the pot of tea in the bracket above the fire before poking it gently and urging more flames.

Robb's eyes followed her, tracing what little he could see of her. "It's rather dark in here." You could almost hear the smirk in his tone. As she turned the flames slowly brightened, half of her face illuminated by the light of them. _Gods, but she is beautiful_ Robb thought.

Her eyebrows creased and she folded her arms, taking a step toward him. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. She was so small compared to him, her waist so delicate that he wanted to wrap his arms around them.

"Are you drunk?"

It was then that Robb realised that he probably was, more so than he thought. Would he have come to Arabelle's room had he not been drinking? This late at night? Would he be thinking all of these thoughts?

"I may have had a drink… or two." He smirked, his smile playful.

Arabelle rolled her eyes, pushing him down in to the seat behind him. "You stay put there, I'll fix you some tea." She muttered, turning to sit before the fireplace.

It was silent for a moment, Arabelle poking the fireplace with an iron rod and Robb watching her intently. Her small hands were beautiful, with long and slender fingers and surprisingly well-kept nails. He wasn't entirely sure how hands could be beautiful, but he supposed that every part of Arabelle truly was.

"Thank you. For today." He whispered, running his ugly and dirty fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more." Her eyes met his, wide and curious. "I understand. To look someone in the eye who might have crippled your brother…" She looked to the floor, fiddling with her dress.

"How do you do it?"

Her eyes met his. "Do what?" She asked, tilting her head slightly.

"How can you separate yourself from vengeful sister and welcoming Lady? Bran is as much your brother as he is mine." He whispered, tapping his fingers on the arm of the lounge chair.

Arabelle chuckled, her eyes meeting his and eyebrows exaggerated. "I'm just a cold-hearted bitch, quite frankly."

"No. No you aren't." Robb's eyes were intense, holding her gaze.

Arabelle's eyelids fluttered, she grasped the rod once more and poked the wood in the fireplace. "My father taught me at a young age that anger and bitterness only clouds the mind. Though he's a stubborn mule, he wasn't so much leading by example as leading by words." She smiled her adorable crooked smile, though her eyes looked sad as she was caught in nostalgia. "My grandmother likes to think that she's taught me the invaluable skills of a puppet master."

Robb's eyes never left her. "And is she right?"

Arabelle smiled before meeting his eyes again. "She's never wrong. I'm sure you've figured that out by now."

The pot of tea started to squeal, hot steam gushing out of the spout. Arabelle placed the rod to the side of the fireplace before standing and wrapping her sleeve around the handle of the pot, taking a cup that was on the end table and pouring the aromatic tea in to it. Robb leant forward and picked up the book that was next to the cup, assuming this was what she had been reading before he had come in. "A History of the Rulers of Essos." He smirked, flicking through and pausing on intermittent pages. "Thrilling, I'm sure."

Arabelle chuckled as she placed the pot down on the table, taking the cup of tea in to her hands. "Distracting, more like." She took the book out of his hands and passed him the cup of tea. "It's been the first evening in awhile I've been able to sit down without having someone beckoning my name."

Robb took her hand and spun her around, pulling her on to his lap. "Arabelle." He mocked, his other hand balancing his cup of tea on the armrest. "You're needed." She smiled, hitting him playfully as she made to get up. "And where am I needed?"

He pulled her back down on to him, thwarting her attempt at getting up. "Right here." He whispered, his smile fading as he met her eyes. She slackened in his arms; her body relaxing and her smile too waned as they gazed in to each other's eyes.

"Gods, but you're beautiful." He whispered almost breathlessly, his hand still holding hers, his arm wrapped around her. Her brows furrowed and she bit her lip, leaning in to him. Her lips met his and parted them gently, lingering for a moment.

Arabelle pulled back to look him in the eyes, her brows creased. Robb smiled at her, taking a sip of the tea in his other hand before her hand snatched it out of his, almost slamming it on the table before her lips crashed upon his, her hands grazing his neck. Robb responded with the same ferocity, one hand gripping her waist and the other coming up to cup her cheek. Their lips met with an fierceness he hadn't anticipated, a passion behind it that Robb had never felt the like of before. This was something that happened in his dreams, but for it to actually be real, for his lips to have met hers? He wanted to take all of her in, for this moment to last forever.

As their kiss intensified, Robb's hand ran from her waist to her thigh, though not daring to move any further. She shuffled, moving one leg to the other side of his, straddling him and running a hand down his chest, flicking back straps that held his tunic in place, as he ran his hands up her dress, pulling off the heaviest layer of her bed robes. He leant forward as she ripped off his tunic and pulled off his linen shirt, his chest bare. She pulled back, looking down at his chest and tracing his the muscled lines of his chest and stomach before meeting his lips again, her tongue grazing his bottom lip. His hands were on her waist, slowly rising, as if he were waiting for her approval.

Suddenly, a crash sounded outside the door. Arabelle jumped, though Robb would not have noticed had she not reacted. Scratching on the wood sounded along with a dog's whimpering, a familiar whimper that could only belong to his beloved Grey Wind. Arabelle looked back to Robb and the two of them burst in to laughter, her hand still pressed against his chest.

Arabelle looked mortified as she pushed herself off of him and wrapped her arms around herself, dressed in only a pale blue silken robe she tip toed to the door to let the wolf in, greeting her with a slobbery kiss on the face. "And just where have you been, Ser wolf?" she forced a laugh, hugging the hound before setting him off to his master.

Robb was still in the lounge chair, his arms bracing the rests and a few beads of sweat running down his chest. He smiled and gave his wolf a quick rub on the head, but cursed him for making an appearance at such an inconvenient of time. He rolled his head back, looking straight up at the stone ceiling of the chamber. "Probably a blessing in disguise if we want any sleep." Arabelle awkwardly chuckled and looked uncomfortable, picking up the clothes strewn around the room and draping them over the armrest of the lounge chair Rob was sat in.

"Probably." He muttered, breathing slowly to slow his heart.

He rose and took his shirt and tunic, pulling his shirt back on loosely and holding his tunic in his hand. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your reading." He made way for the door, Grey Wind trotting ahead of him.

"Robb..."

"Sleep well, Arabelle." He pulled the door shut behind him and made way for his room, cursing as he walked in the dark. _How could I be so stupid?_

* * *

It had been an uneasy few weeks initially at the Wall. It hadn't quite been what Jon had expected. Books had romanticised the Night's Watch to be this order of honourable men – men who protected the realm and composed themselves with pride. And maybe that was true once, but the Night's Watch now was reduced to a tenth of the men, with only two castles of the twelve currently occupied and the occupants were mainly thieves and rapists who wanted to keep their hands and their balls in tact.

The other men had hated Jon to begin with – Ser Alliser Thorne, the man in charge of training the recruits, had taken a particular disliking to him. He was the only recruit with a semblance of experience with a sword, and possibly, the only one who had not committed a major crime.

Tyrion had examined that in his time visiting the wall, and had even given the other recruits a bit of a talking to. In time, Jon had come to call a few of them friends. Instead of beating them to a pulp in swordplay, he would help them to improve their techniques, teaching them the skills that he had learned in his time at Winterfell.

It was a distraction during the day, but come night when he was in his quarters by himself, Ghost lying at his feet, he could not stop thinking about Arabelle. Her crooked smile, the lighter sun-kissed streaks of her hair, her small waist, her breasts. The only news he had from Winterfell was that Bran had woken up. The next raven he would receive would probably send word of the joining of House Stark and Benefort. Damn the gods.

Jon was scrubbing the table in silence with the newest recruit, Samwell Tarly. He was a plump noble's son, who didn't fit in at home. He'd had a rough go of it, being forced to the wall by his father and as soon as he'd arrived, he'd had a worse reception than Jon. He was a coward, too scared to fight. They'd called him 'piggy'. Though Jon had taken a liking to him, he had a good heart.

"I bet most of the officers go to that brothel in Mole's Town." Sam muttered as he spread more powder across the tables.

"I wouldn't doubt it." Jon responded, not lifting his eyes from his hands.

"Don't you think it's a little bit unfair? Making us take our vows while they sneak off for a little Sally on the side?"

That made Jon laugh. "Sally on the side?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"It's silly, isn't it?" Sam muttered, ignoring Jon's amusement. "What, we can't defend the Wall unless we're celibate?" Sam stopped scrubbing for a moment, raising his hand in frustration. "It's absurd."

Jon kept scrubbing; though he had to admit the same thought had crossed his mind. "I didn't think you'd be so upset about it."

Sam perked up, from his face Jon could see he had taken offence. "Why not? Because I'm fat?"

Jon rolled his eyes and rose up slowly, gripping the scrubbing brush in his hand tightly. "No…"

"I like girls just as much as you do." Sam protested, his eyes glazing over slightly. "They might not like me as much…"

Both took their brushes and started scrubbing again before Sam broke the silence once more. "I've never… been with one." He said, focusing his eyes intently on the table they were cleaning. "You've probably had hundreds."

Jon paused and clenched his hands, staring down at them. The hands that had held Arabelle while she slept, had touched her bare skin. "No…" he whispered, not baring to meet Sam's eye. "As a matter of fact, I'm the same as you."

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. I find that hard to believe" He smirked, focusing back on his task.

"I came very close once." Jon said, placing the brush down and staring at the table. He didn't know why he was saying this; he had always been incredibly private. He'd never spoken of Arabelle to anyone, lest he lose his hands, balls, or his head. "I was alone in a room with a naked girl… but…" He could see her, almost clear as day. Her body illuminated by the moonlight, the lines of her toned stomach.

"Didn't know where to put it?" Sam smirked smugly.

"I know where to put it."

"Was she old and ugly?"

Jon smiled, turning around to sit on the table. "Young. The most beautiful girl in the North." He took the brush in his hands again, looking for something to fiddle with. "Words can't do her justice." He smiled.

"What 's her name?" Sam was intrigued, his eyes lighting up.

Jon thought briefly. What harm would it do telling him of Arabelle? He was already at the Wall and Arabelle would be married soon. If word got out, it wouldn't do much harm.

"Arabelle. Arabelle Benefort."

Sam gasped, his big brown eyes wider than Jon had ever seen them. "Benefort… the blue fox? A noble woman? Gods, Jon, I thought you'd say she was a whore or a tavern wench!" He dropped the brush, leaning over the table with more intense curiosity. "Is she really as beautiful as they say? What colour hair? Eyes?" He looked like a child in a shop full of sweets.

"Even more beautiful. Brown, but light in the sun." Jon smiled as he thumbed the brush. "Most often blue, but they change everyday." He missed her eyes. Often it was a good indication of her mood.

Sam smiled before awkwardly flickering his eyes. "And… her um…" He made some gestures around his chest, smiling crookedly.

"You don't want to know." Jon smiled.

"What, that good?"

"Better." He smirked, looking down to the brush once more.

"Oh no." Their chuckles died out, and Jon knew the question that was coming next.

"So… why didn't you make love to the most beautiful woman in the North, or, excuse me, the world?"

Jon felt a lump in his throat, and suddenly he had to voice something that he hadn't truly even told Arabelle. "My name is Snow. I'm not a Stark; I'm a bastard of the North. Had anyone known Arabelle Benefort had been touched before her marriage, at best she would be exiled and have to whore herself in some far away brothel."

"Do you love her?" Sam asked, his eyes searching Jon's.

"Aye." Never much one for words, but Jon could barely swallow back that lump at this point.

"And gods forbid she were to get pregnant. I wanted to. So badly, I wanted to touch her. But what if I fathered another bastard? Another Snow?" Jon swallowed back the lump finally, standing to get back to the task at hand. "It's not a good life for a child."

It was silent between the two of them as they picked back up their brushes and got to work. Then Jon could hear Sam smirk.

"So… you didn't know where to put it?"


	12. eleven

**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews you lovely human beings! I've touched down in NYC and I'm going to be very busy here, so if I don't upload in the next few days it'll hopefully be up at some point during my trip home or when I actually get home.

Enjoy and let me know what you think! Your reviews make me smile :)

* * *

**twelve**

* * *

Robb had hardly any sleep that night, lying awake with eyes tracing the ceiling in the dark. Damn the liquid courage. She had looked so uncomfortable when they'd been interrupted, her face flushed and eyes sad. But she had kissed him back… there was a passion behind it that he hadn't anticipated. When the sun rose he took to the water placed in his chambers and lazily washed himself, pulling on his 'proper' clothes, as proper as clothes got in the North. He'd hurriedly written a letter and taken it to Maester Luwin, urging it be sent as soon as was possible.

Arabelle hadn't come to breakfast. Instead, Robb ate with Theon, Mariesya, Bran and Rickon. Mariesya looked embarrassed, "I'm sorry my daughter has not _graced_ us with her presence this morning." Robb sighed, resting an elbow on the table. "That's quite alright, my lady. I hope she is well." Mariesya smiled, placing a slightly wrinkled hand over his. "Please, Robb. I've known you since you were a babe, I'll be your mother by law soon. It's Maree to you."

"Maree." Robb smiled slightly.

The chair in which Bran sat was big and supported his back; enough furs were draped over him that would keep a small family warm during winter. He rested back in it, slouching as he finished his last bite of food. "Well now Bran, it's time for your lessons." Theon smirked, standing and taking a last sip of water before he left. Bran groaned. "I just finished eating! That's not fair." He grumbled. "Maester's rules, not mine." Theon clicked his fingers, beckoning Hodor over from across the room.

Hodor towered over Bran, taking the small boy in his arms and they left the room, Theon filing out after them. It was early still, though Robb knew that the Maester was trying to get Bran to be more engaged in his studies, his lethargic state was worrying for them all. "Unfortunate that Cat couldn't be here to see him wake." Marieysa sighed as she gently pushed her plate away from her.

Rickon moved closer to Robb, resting his head on his elder brother's arm. Robb's arm instinctively wrapped around him, holding him close. "I suspect that's largely why you've stayed here so long. Thank you, Maree. It surely put mother's mind at rest having you here."

"You'd be right in your suspicions. A favour for an old friend is no trouble." She had such a sweet smile, her features worn with age. He could not see any of Arabelle in her mother – Arabelle far more favoured her Northern Benefort blood to her Southern mother's. She was the spitting image of Alyn's mother, so all of their parents had said; Lady Brennalys had died not long after the twin foxes were born.

"I've also stayed to keep an eye on my daughter." Marieysa's smile dimmed. "You know how she is, she's defiant. Strong. Too stubborn for her own good."

Robb smirked. "She is."

"And she has proved herself more than capable of being a Lady, something I had evidently been worrying myself sick over for months with no cause." She took Robb's hands in her own. "I hope you agree. "

He couldn't imagine being wed to anyone else. Though it was never set in stone, their parents had always hinted at a match between the two of them, or Doran and Sansa. When he had stopped playing with swords and had actually started learning to swing them was when Robb realised he would be Lord Stark one day, that he would wed the future Lady Stark.

"I am more worried that I am not capable of being a good Lord husband for her, honestly." He chuckled, eliciting a soft laugh from Mariysa too.

"Good." She smiled. She held his gaze for a moment before clearing her throat and standing, smiling down at little Rickon. "I'm going to go to the markets to gather things for my journey tomorrow morning. Would you like to accompany me, sir?" She exaggerated a bow, making Rickon grin.

"You leave tomorrow?" Robb asked. "It is time for me to go home. I'm sure my husband has been enjoying the peace and quiet far too much, that must be rectified!" Robb laughed, looking down at Rickon and nodding towards Marieysa. "Go on then, don't cause too much trouble."

"We'll try!" Marieysa chirped, taking Rickon's hand and disappearing with him in to the hallway.

Robb sighed, stirring his soup that had no doubt by now gone cold. If Arabelle was missing home by now, tomorrow would make it feel far more real to her. And if Elizanda was going with her…

"Gods, I thought she'd never leave."

He looked up to see Lady Wyllsand strolling in; her robes were all different shades of purple with intricate gold stitching along the sleeves and skirts. Wyllsand was a Southern house, and the Southerners cared far more about their fashions than the Northerner's. Her hair reflected that too, braided in so many different directions and pins. Robb did not know how old she was, but he suspected it was far older than she looked.

"She's my daughter, I love her to the ends of the world, but seven hells the woman can drive me mad!" She approached the table and Robb stood, not quite sure whether to bow or not. Or whether that was appropriate. "Oh, nonsense boy, sit, sit! I just wanted to continue our talk from last night."

Robb sat and his cheeks flushed, he could feel his palms starting to sweat. Had Arabelle spoken to her? Oh, gods but he was embarrassed. She took a seat across from him, placing her cane across her lap. She looked up at him and smiled sweetly – the same smile Marieysa had on her face not moments before.

"So." She smiled.

Robb looked at her, confused. Was she going to continue? Was he supposed to say something? He put a spoonful of soup in his mouth and avoided her eyes, waiting for her to continue.

"When did you fall in love with her?"

He spat the soup out, covering his hands in it and spraying half of it across the table. "Oh, gods." He took a cloth and wiped his hands and the table slightly. "I'm so sorry." He wiped down the majority of the splatter, still avoiding her gaze.

"When did you fall in love with her? Elizanda persisted, crossing her arms and hesitantly leaning on the table.

Robb stopped wiping and looked at her, putting down the cloth. "I don't-"

"Don't bother with that nonsense, I know."

_Seven hells. _His cheeks flushed and he hung his head. So Arabelle had talked to her.

"I… I think I have for a long time. But… I _knew_ a few moons ago."

"And?" He looked across to Elizanda and she was cupping her head in her heads, a smile spread across her face as she eagerly awaited him to continue.

"We were returning from a hunting trip… We road at the back, she insisted we protect the rear of the group. Doran was with us, but he road ahead to meet Theon and Jon. It was cold, we'd gone further North and there was a fog." He could feel the Wyllsand matriach's eyes burning through his skull. "There was a pig, the same colour as the mud it was lying in. It had caught its leg in a rabbit hole and was whining. Ari immediately dismounted her horse, rushing over to it. I protested, I told her we were already far behind, that it was just a pig. But she refused to listen. She knelt over the pig, who snapped at her. Ari ran her hand over its head, hushing it before lifting his leg out of the hole. It rushed off straight after, leg unbroken."

He smiled faintly at the memory. "Not many people would stop for a pig caught in a hole. Even I would have left it, assuming it would die. But all the pig needed was a little push. She didn't give up on it."

Elizanda leant back, sitting up straight. She seemed to be taking it in. "She is indeed very special, my Arabelle."

She took, stepping back from her chair and resting both hands on her cane.

"Be patient with her."

* * *

It was surprisingly bright for a Northern morning, cold dew on the grasses and on some of the wooden balustrades of Winterfell. It was bleak, grey and duller than the lands around the Nigthfort. Arabelle missed the mountains, the trees. She had her legs hanging between two gaps in the balustrading of the balcony outside the library. She could see from where she sat Theon practicing his archery and Bran sitting with Maester Luwin for his lesson.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering where they had been just hours before. She hadn't expected Robb to kiss her then… nor for her to want to kiss him back. Was she just missing Jon? No… there was something behind that kiss. Hells, she was caught between brothers. She hit her palm to her forehead, _you bloody whore_.

But she was kissing her future husband. She could never have Jon, he was already at the Wall. But being with two brothers….

_I need to stop._

Arabelle sprung up, brushing down her leather breeches before heading back inside. She gathered them in her hands, walking quickly down the halls. There was nowhere she had to be today – Robb had to receive a few people but other than that, it was a quiet day. She so desperately wanted to find something to do, to distract her from the thoughts clouding her mind.

She grabbed her cloak from her room, drew her hood and set out to the brothel outside of Winterfell's walls. It wasn't far, though far enough to keep those associated with the brothel _un-associated_ with the castle. Questions were practically burning through her chest as her heart raced, she attempted to swallow back all thoughts of those damned Stark brothers.

It was cold out; the frosty air was moist and made it hard for Arabelle to breath. She rested a hand on her chest as she walked, trying to take deeper breaths. It seemed as though moist weather made her awfully sick. _I bet not be too long._

As she approached the brothel, she saw Tyrion and a man clad in black on horseback, about to set off for the Kingsroad she assumed.

"Lannister." She called, cloak still hiding her face. "I'd not expected you the sort to be out of bed and on the road so early in the morn." She smirked, pulling back her hood and looking up at the lion in the eye.

He turned, confused until Arabelle had revealed her face. He grinned, "I am usually more for the night, as you know, but alas my companion here is not." He gestured toward the brother of the Night's Watch. "You are quite the sight for sore eyes, Lady Arabelle."

"And you for mine, Lannister."

"I'll be a moment, my lord." The brother said, bowing his head. "My lady."

After he had gone, Tyrion turned back his head to look Arabelle in the eyes. "I must say I admired your performance yesterday, I wouldn't have expected anything less." His smile made her feel as though he was proud, and she smiled back. "That Stark boy, though, may need to learn a thing or two."

"I fear he lets his emotions get to him. Terrible, that. How human of him."

Tyrion laughed, and Arabelle noticed then that his eyes were two different colours. One black and one green. He truly was unique.

"And what emotion would have so much hatred for a dwarf with a gift for his crippled brother?" He asked, smirk still plastered on his face.

Arabelle pushed back loose hairs from her head with her palm, smoothing them out. "I think that you know." And, for the first time that she had seen, he looked solemn. His grin slowly withered away, his eyes glazing over as he digested what she had said. "I don't know what happened, I don't know who was involved. But I can see clear as day that you know more than I. I respect you, Tyrion. Dare I even call you friend, and I hope to the old gods that you are not involved." She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. "But when I find out who did that to Bran, I would have you know that I will hurt them as they hurt him."

She didn't want to resort to threats, but the anger had built up inside of her when she had said those words. Something she had held back for weeks, trying to be strong for Robb.

"I believe you have made yourself clear as day, Lady Arabelle. And it pains me to say that I do not know myself what happened to Bran. But I too have suspicions." A master of the game, the lion heir was. A worthy opponent.

A muffled shout could be heard from the distance; the brother of the Night's Watch was calling Tyrion's name, beckoning him to come join him.

"I also believe that is my cue to leave. I am glad to have seen you this morning, Arabelle." He smiled, a more genuine smile than usual.

"Thank you for your time, Lord Tyrion. I wish you a safe journey." She nodded in the direction of the brother, smiling her thanks.

As he reared his horse to turn, a thought struck Arabelle.

"Wait, Tyrion!"

He stopped, turning his horse once more. "Yes, my lady?"

Arabelle hesitated. Her voice croaked as she tried to get the words out. "Jon… is he… is he well?"

Tyrion's smirk spread in full force. "Why, I believe he was born to take the black."

After her little rendezvous with the Lannister heir that morning, the day had passed relatively slowly. She had managed to avoid Robb at all costs – Theon's presence was usually a good indication of Robb arriving soon, so she would dart into darker corridors and try to stay out of sight.

Marieysa had taken little Rickon to the markets, buying some food for her journey back to the Nightfort come morning. Elizanda would be leaving with her, leaving Arabelle alone at Winterfell for the first time. After her mother had returned Rickon was taken to his lessons and Marieysa thread her arm through her daughters, taking her to the guest quarters were they had tea with Lady Wyllsand.

Her Noma had looked at her in that way – her golden eyes sparkled, like she knew something that you didn't. And as usual, she probably did.

"You didn't break fast with us this morning, Arabella." Marieysa stirred her tea, her eyes not even lifting to look at her daughter. Her tone was less than satisfied, and her mother only called her Arabella when she was scolding her. Arabelle couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"You're right, I didn't."

Her mother took a sip of her tea, looking down her nose at her daughter."Don't you take that tone with me, Arabella." Arabelle sat up in her seat, cupping her tea in her hands. "What, mother? What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you did not do as a lady is supposed to and dine with her guests."

She knew her mother would do this. One mistake and suddenly everything was falling apart. Arabelle didn't have the time nor the patience for this. "I'm not a lady yet."

"That is not the point!" Marieysa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why must I be stuck with such an awful child? Dressed in those damn leathers, no less. She thinks she's a man!"

"Be thankful the girl has a mind of her own, Maree." Elizanda's voice was firm, her fingers draped elegantly around a flute of wine. "You haven't birthed an imbecile." Marieysa snorted, rolling her eyes. "Gods, no. My life would have been much easier!"

Arabelle stood, placing her cup of tea on the table between the three of them. "I miss breakfast and suddenly I'm the worst daughter anyone could ever have."

"You sit right back down young lady." Marieysa hissed.

Arabelle started towards the door, throwing a hand behind her shoulder. "You forget, mother. I'm not a lady." Without a thought she slammed the door behind her, spinning on her heels and walking hastily down the hall. Her mother made her so angry. She was never bloody good enough for her, and their differences often caused them to butt heads. Sometimes so much as a cough could set one of them off, evoking a yelling match.

She didn't have much respect for her mother. Marieysa was a weak woman, eaten away by her own insecurities and oft taking it out on her daughter, forcing her to strive for the perfection that she never had herself. If Arabelle's father had told her she was not good enough… that she was not a lady… then that would be entirely different. She had no patience with her mother.

Her heels clicked as she made her way through the cobbled stone hallways of Winterfell, she could feel the cool of the night air. The hallways were always so dark, torches sparse and their flames weak. Other than her moving through the halls, it was silent.

As she entered her room, she pulled off her clothes and unstrapped her breasts, pulling over herself a lighter nightgown to sleep in. She folded her clothes and opened the chest at the end of her bed; pulling out a skin of wine, she had hidden at the bottom underneath her most formal dresses and placed her dirtier clothes in. She flopped back on to her bed, unscrewing the cap of her wine skin and downing what little was left in it.

It was a lot a pressure, to be the best. To be the perfect little lady her mother had always wanted. A stray tear found its way out of her eye. She could never be perfect.


	13. twelve

**A/N:** I am finally home! 2 months of travelling and I've finally been reunited with my bed 3 I've been busy catching up with my life the last week and a bit so coming back and seeing your kind words is so touching! So as promised here is the next chapter and I hope you guys enjoy. I may be MIA for the next few days as the Sims 4 AND Destiny came out recently and I'm absolutely addicted! Sorry this is a shorter one x

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**thirteen**

* * *

A dull ache throbbed in her head as the morning light sifted in to her room. She brought her head to her head and cursed at herself, she drank that wine far too fast. Arabelle pushed herself up off her bed, swinging her legs over the side and burying her head in her legs. Her mother and grandmother were to leave any moment now, and she would be alone. Alone, and unable to ignore any of her problems. Unable to run away from them.

Arabelle grabbed the pitcher of water her handmaiden and drank straight from it, consuming an ungodly amount of water in just seconds before placing it back and standing straight up. She felt somewhat unbalanced as she pulled her nightgown over her head, throwing it on to her bed. She hated being dressed by her handmaidens. It was their job, she knew, but it didn't mean she had to enjoy having the breath sucked out of her whenever she had to put on a formal dress. She stood for a few moments, regaining her composure before reaching in to her trunk of clothes and pulling a heavy woollen dress, something to keep her warm in the chill of the morning.

She made her way down the hall towards Lady Wyllsand's room, every click of her heel upon the cobbled stone hallways sounded in her head, almost in time with the throbbing of her head. She struggled to even smile at servants she passed, most of them lugging trunks of clothes towards the stables. "No, child, those two you leave here. Move them to Lady Arabelle's room when you have the time." Arabelle could almost hear the smile on her grandmother's face, the sweet act she used oft to get her own way.

"Presents? How thoughtful, Noma." Arabelle smirked as she came to lean against the doorframe, arms crossing over her waist. "I didn't think you the love them and then leave them sort, my lady." Elizanda's head whipped around to where her granddaughter stood, a scowl on her face for a moment before she softened back in to her sweet old lady smile. "I pride myself on unpredictability, Belle." She was wearing excellent robes of purple and gold, the colours of the Wyllsand house. Her hair was in a simple braid, usually worn more intricately but for the occasions of travel, there was no need. She came to greet her granddaughter, pulling the dark leather gloves from her hands and hugging her little fox.

"Such a short stay." Arabelle murmured as she withdrew from her Noma's embrace. "I am sad to see you leave, Noma." Elizanda's eyes were sad and avoided her granddaughters, scanning her up and down as her hands squeezed Arabelle's arms. "Yes, well unfortunately we do not always get what we want dear. I will be staying at the Nightfort for the next few moons to come I will only be a few days away."

"Why did you come, Noma?"

Elizanda's arms dropped to her side and glanced at her granddaughter's eyes before she turned, making her way to her lounge. "I came because I thought you were in danger, Belle." She poured two cups of tea and leant back with one of them, her eyes focused on the burning embers of the fireplace that had been thriving the evening before.

"What is this danger? You've hardly spoken to me of it." Arabelle didn't take her tea; instead her gaze was on her grandmother.

"You know that I have a gift. My sight is not the… clearest… at times, but I saw death. I saw your death in the south. The things I saw are not things a grandmother should ever see."

Arabelle stared at her grandmother, her face blank and eyes distant. She took her cup of tea then, and sat back, her eyes following her grandmothers to stare in the embers of the fireplace.

"I am to die?"

"We all die, child."

Elizanda sipped on her tea before cupping it in her hands and resting it in her lap. "Time, whilst it may be an unforgiving whore, seems to be rather tangible. I've seen things change before, my dear. That is why I have come." Arabelle drew her cup to her lips, her eyes unmoving from the fireplace as she took another sip of her tea. "There was happiness, too. With just a gleam of a smile, you would know that you fare far better than many others have."

Arabelle placed her tea on the table before her, standing and smoothing out her dress. "And you will not tell me why you have this gift? Why I can trust you?"

"Have I been wrong before?"

Elizanda's tone was sterner than Arabelle had ever heard it, her eyes almost challenging Arabelle's as they met each other's gaze. "I cannot speak of such things in a hold where all the walls have ears and eyes." Elizanda placed her tea on the table, standing to meet her granddaughter. Age had riddled her smaller than she used to be, though Arabelle had heard she was taller than Marieysa when she was in her prime. Now, she was just an inch or so taller than Arabelle. "It is a part of me, born in to me. Branded." She took Arabelle's hands in to her own, her gold eyes flickering as they stared in to Arabelle's pale blue eyes. "Trust in me."

Arabelle couldn't deny it, Elizanda knew things that ordinary people couldn't. She was always ten steps ahead of anyone else.

"Lady Wyllsand everything is-" Elizanda's handmaiden bounded in to the room before realising her mistress had company. "Oh, I had not realised you had company. My apologise, Lady Wyllsand." She bowed, about to exit. "No, girl, it is quite alright. We were about to make our way down anyway. Elizanda let go of one of Arabelle's hands and thread her other through Arabelle's arm. "Shall we?"

They made their way downstairs, weaving through the throes of servants and guards to the courtyard. Arabelle's heart skipped a beat when she saw Robb standing with Marieysa, his curly mop of hair looking considerably more groomed than it had two nights prior. His Tully blue eyes looked like the ocean, they threatened to pull her in if she were not careful enough. Seeing him made her stomach flip, a smile tugged at her lips for a moment before she realised how things had been left between them. He smiled at her when he looked up, beaming for a moment before his expression soured. He remembered too.

Bran was in Hodor's arms, standing with Theon only strides behind Robb, with little Rickon gripping tightly at Marieysa's legs.

"Looks like you've earned yourself a secret admirer there, mother." Arabelle smirked as she and Elizanda approached, arms still woven together. Marieysa looked to her daughter, and Arabelle was anticipating a scowl. But then she smiled, and that surprised Arabelle all the more. "He's a lovely boy, this one." She ruffled Rickon's hair. "I'm sad to be leaving him."

Arabelle smiled as she took her arm back from Elizanda, approaching Rickon and crouching behind him. "If you're not careful he might sneak in to a chest of clothes. He's done it to me before." She rubbed his back to urge him to let go. "Come on, petal. Aunt Maree has to go now." Rickon reluctantly let go of Marieysa's skirts, turning straight around to grasp Arabelle. He wrapped his arms around her neck and Arabelle chuckled, stranding up straight and bringing her arms around to hold him on her hip.

"That's the most agreeable he's been in a long while. You Benefort ladies have a way with him." Robb laughed, his eyes lingering on Arabelle for a moment. "Maybe it's because we're prettier than you lot." Arabelle smirked, adjusting Rickon on her hip as she did so. He leant his head against her shoulder, biting his thumb and eyes looking sadder than Arabelle's heart could handle.

"I can't deny that, my lady." Robb smiled, and Elizanda took a few steps forward to stand beside Marieysa. "I fear it is time we say our farewells, Lord Stark. If we aren't on the road in the next hour I fear we will not be at the Nightfort in time to meet with Lord Reed before he heads back to Greywater Watch." Elizanda smiled and approached Bran. "Hodor, would you be so kind as to kneel for me?" Hodor smiled and eagerly dropped to his knees, allowing Elizanda to graze her fingers across Bran's forehead. "You are destined for greatness, little wolf." She leant in and whispered something to him, and Arabelle genuinely had no idea what. Had Elizanda been spending time with Bran whilst Arabelle had not noticed?

Marieysa ruffled Rickon's hair before hugging Robb tightly. "You take care of her. She might be a difficult little thing but she's my difficult little thing. And I'm sure you're aware should anything happen to her Alyn-"

"Will have my head on a pike and parade it throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I know, he's made that perfectly clear." Marieysa smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it before making her way over to Bran.

Elizanda made her way over to the oldest Stark, the luminescent gold eyes seemed to whirl around. "Robb Stark." She said, standing before him. "I'm sure you've been threatened with your life enough by my charming son-in-law, so I will spare you cruel words." She went in to hug him, and from what it looked like whispered something else in to his ear. Arabelle stood back, smiling and swaying slowly as Rickon chewed on his thumb.

Soon enough, Elizanda and Marieysa made their way to Arabelle, Marieysa's eyes reddened and wet as she looked her daughter in the eye. Robb came next to Arabelle, offering to take Rickon from her arms so she could properly farewell her family. Arabelle passed Rickon to his brother before looking at her mother in the eyes. They hugged quickly, tightly. "I'm sorry." Was all Marieysa said, though Arabelle could feel the wetness on her shoulder. "Hey, hey. It's alright." She rubbed her mothers back, gripping her tighter. "I love you. I'll see you at the wedding." There was so much so be said, and so little they could manage. Arabelle tended to tiptoe around emotional confrontation, and this was no exception.

Marieysa let go of her daughter, making way for her own mother to farewell her grandchild.

Elizanda smiled sweetly, outstretching her arms and Arabelle keenly jumped in to them. She gripped her Noma tightly, her sobs only slightly escaping from her. "You stay at the bloody Nightfort forever, don't you dare go South or so help me gods…" Elizanda chuckled, holding her Belle tightly. "Anything you ask, my dearest dearest Belle." Marieysa came to hold them both too, the three of them embracing tightly.

"You lot make such a fuss, you'll be back not long from now for the wedding." Robb laughed, his tone ever so slightly shifting when he said wedding. Arabelle wouldn't have noticed it were she not listening for it.

The three of them chuckled and wiped the wet from their cheeks and Elizanda backed off, pushing Marieysa in to the carriage awaiting them in the courtyard. Arabelle looked to them sadly, not quite sure what to do. This was a first – being left alone by her entire family. Usually she would be getting in the carriage.

They took moments to settle, and other carriages full of chests of their belongings along with an entourage of guards filed in to the courtyard to accompany them. Marieysa sat next to the window, face all but pressed up against the glass window. Arabelle laughed, almost choking on tears as she smiled at her mother.

Arabelle could feel Robb's eyes on her, though she was preoccupied with trying to absorb these last moments she would see her family for a few weeks, maybe months. She still felt awkward under his gaze, having run away from him the last day and leaving things in such a state. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding Rickon in his other and held her close. The gesture was touching, and honestly, Arabelle was glad he had been the one to make the first move. She gave in, resting her head on his shoulder and biting back tears. After the Wyllsand house guard gave the okay, the driver of the carriage whipped the horses, and with that the party took off. Arabelle almost couldn't see through her tears as the carriage slowly rolled away, wiping hear face with the thick sleeve of her dress.

"So it begins." Robb sighed.


	14. thirteen

**A/N:** Hey guys! Hope you've all been well :) thank you for your kind words about the last chapter, both reviews and messages. You're all so sweet and supportive! Please keep reviewing, I love waking up to new messages! I also just started up a new story for The Last of Us because I just finished that game and it was amazing and I love the characters and story and agh excitement! So if you're a fan go check that out :) til next time chickens!

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**fourteen**

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"Are you excited to try out your new saddle?" Arabelle smirked at the young Stark boy as Hodor held him. She was tightening fitting the saddle on Bran's horse herself, she had insisted she be shown as she was planning on taking Bran on many rides if this contraption did in fact work. Arabelle had seen Tyrion's plans herself, and she would be shocked if it didn't.

"Is that a serious question?" Were the boy not smiling she would have thought he were being rude by his tone. He'd become bitter in the weeks since waking, and honestly, Arabelle could not possibly blame him. She shot him a look and smiled, backing away from the horse. "Hodor." She gestured towards the horse before turning around and taking her gloves from the table nearby, putting them back on. As Bran was placed in his saddle, Arabelle commanded Hodor to hold him while she strapped his legs in place.

"I hope that's not too tight. I'll check on it later." Arabelle turned and to her slight surprise Hodor had already picked up her coat, offering it to her with a big grin on his face. "Hodor." "Thank you, Hodor." She smiled up at him, tying the thick fur-lined coat over her shoulders. Arabelle had organised her horse to be taken to the gate so that she could walk Bran first before they headed off. She took the reigns of his horse and looked at Bran. "Ready?" He nodded excitedly, and slowly Arabelle started walking the horse towards the gate.

"We'll start off with a slow pace and build as you get more comfortable with the saddle, Bran."

As they turned the corner, Arabelle saw two other horses by her own, and two shaggy-haired boys standing nearby. _Gods damn it all._ She approached slowly. She had hoped it would just be her and Bran, some time to distract herself from the absence of her family and the feelings she harboured.

"You're mighty tall up there, Bran." Robb smiled up at his little brother, his eyes full of affection. "It's quite a sight." He would be as tall as any man on a horse, everyone had reminded him.

"I take it you two will be joining us?" Arabelle's eyes flickered from Theon's and Robb's.

"I've found some time to spare to see my little brother ride a horse. And to make sure you two don't happen upon any trouble out there." He nodded in the direction of the forest. It was further north, and wildlings had been spotted there before. But not in recent times, as far as Arabelle knew. Besides, she could more than handle herself, her fierce black bow and daggers were visible tied to her pack and on her horse.

She rolled her eyes and pulled the reigns of Bran's horse over it's head, handing them to the Stark pup. "I won't protest that." She walked over to her horse as Robb mounted his stallion, a large grey beast of a thing befitting a lord. "Did I miss something? Domestic dispute?" Theon gawked as he looked back and forth between Arabelle and Robb, his grin wide and eyes wild.

"Shut it, Greyjoy." Arabelle muttered, strapping her daggers to her back and slinging her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She put her foot in the left stirrup of her saddle before swinging her leg over her horse. Her riding leathers were made obvious with her legs on either side, whereas before they were hidden with her cloak.

"From the looks of it you're marrying a boy, Stark." Theon chuckled, staring at Arabelle's leg.

"From the looks of it you're a mouthy asshole, Greyjoy." Arabelle muttered before looking back at Bran. "Coming?" The Stark child nodded and hit the reigns, mumbling a 'heel' before taking off. He had to train his horse to touch and sound as he couldn't kick it anymore.

"What in the world have you done to piss her off?" Theon asked in astonishment, staring wide-eyed at Arabelle as she slowly made her way out of the gate.

"Get a move on, Greyjoy." Robb hissed at his friend.

* * *

Bran was grinning wildly and cheering at the top of his lungs as he flew past on his horse, now comfortable in his new saddle. Arabelle was grinning and running on the ground, making him chase her. Seeing the two of them smile so much filled Robb with a warm feeling, it made him want to smile.

"Not too fast!" He chuckled, smiling as Arabelle ducked behind a tree to hide from his little brother.

"Calm down, old man, he's fine!" Arabelle cheered, sprinting to another tree to set a mark for Bran.

Robb laughed, he had all but forgotten about the news he had received earlier in the morning until he felt Theon's eyes on him, piercing him. "When are you going to tell him?"

He sighed, frustrated at how adamant Theon was that Robb make a move. That he do something about what had happened. But honestly, he didn't feel up to the task. He was a lad of twenty one years, sure, but he did not feel ready to wage a war. Despite what Theon thought. "Not now."

"Blood for blood. You need to make the Lannisters pay for Jory and the others."

He scoffed, his eyes narrowing in a scrutinising sort of way at his friend. "You're talking about war."

"I'm talking about justice."

"Only the Lord of Winterfell can call the banners and raise an army." And Robb was not the Lord of Winterfell. He would be, one day. But today he was not.

Theon raised his voice in disbelief, showing more passion than Robb had the entire morn. "The Lannister's put a spear through your father's leg. The Kingslayer rides for Casterly Rock where no-one can touch him."

What the hell did Theon want from him? Did he want him to wage a war? "You want me to march on Casterly Rock?"

"You're not a boy anymore. They attacked your father, they've already started the war. If you marry Arabelle soon, you'll have the Benefort's and their banners. It's your duty to represent your house when your father can't." It made Robb feel ill that Theon would bring Arabelle's family in to this. Of course Alyn would defend his old friend in a heartbeat, but Robb had promised to keep Arabelle safe. And to keep her safe, he'd try to keep her family safe. At any cost.

"It's not your duty. Because it's not your house." Harsh, but it rung true. Theon wanted action, not justice. He wanted a fight more than he wanted father to walk free.

Theon stood up and spat at the ground. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Arabelle chose the perfect moment to come bounding over, her smile wide and hair matting against the sweat on her forehead. Theon huffed and walked off, his breath an exaggerated white cloud as he stalked off. "What's his problem?" Robb rolled his eyes, trying to brush it off with a smile. "You know how he is." Arabelle almost snorted with laughter. "Yeah. I know how he is." Arabelle left it at that, pulling her cloak over herself to cover her legs. She looked cold, and as much as Robb wanted to put an arm around her or give her his own cloak, he held back. He didn't want to piss her off even more.

"Bran is having a lot of fun. He's taken to the new saddle well." She smiled, looking over at Robb."

"Yes, he has. It's wonderful to watch." Robb smiled, meeting Arabelle's gaze. Now they were alone. Now they had to talk about that night. _Well, no time like the present._ "Arabelle-"

"Wait… where is Bran?"

* * *

Arabelle was so quiet she couldn't even hear herself breathe. Maybe that's because she wasn't breathing, she wasn't so sure. She slowly crept up, keeping Bran's horse in sight. She counted four wildlings, three men and a woman. They were all covered in fur and leather with matted hair, from dirt or blood she couldn't quite tell. She had her dagger drawn rather than her bow, and had run ahead to look for Bran without Robb. She hid behind a tree, her eyes focused on the one closest to her.

"There ain't no white walkers down in Dorne." The oldest one spat, looking at the woman.

"Drop the knife." Arabelle shut her eyes tight, cursing at Robb under her breath. She felt just as distressed seeing Bran surrounded by such filth, but to challenge them all was just stupid. "Let him go and I'll let you live." _Gods, you idiot._

The oldest one hissed, and the smallest man lurched at Robb with an axe. Arabelle's heart skipped a beat, she almost screamed out for Robb she was so worried. But that wouldn't help. Arabelle pulled out her gifted double-ended blade, stepping up quickly and gripping the man closest to her by the neck, slitting his throat. Blood sprayed across Bran's leg and his horse, though Arabelle had no time to apologise.

"Robb!"

The small wildling man swung at Robb with his axe which he dodged by leaning back deeply, and brought his blade up to parry with his second strike, managing to slice his throat as he did so. The woman and other man charged at Robb, and Arabelle took the opportunity to unstrap Bran's leg. It took her a moment to realise the older man was on the other side, with the same idea. "No!" She screamed, reaching over the saddle to punch the man in the face, buying her enough time to lift Bran down and place him next to the tree.

"You'll be okay, you'll be okay Bran-"

Arabelle squealed as the oldest man gripped her by her hair, throwing her back on to the ground in front of Robb. _I shouldn't have turned my back on him, damnit._ He pulled her up, holding her tightly around her waist with his knife pressed in to her neck. His touch made her skin crawl. Her eyes focused back on Robb briefly, to see that he had disposed of the other man and was about to strike the woman, gripping her by her hair.

"Robb." Arabelle cried out, her voice raspy against the tight grip against her throat. "Robb, get Bran."

"Shut up!" The man brought down the pummel of the knife on her head hard, glaring over at Robb. "Drop the blade." Arabelle clawed at his arm, trying to lower her chin enough that she could bite the man.

Robb's expression looked so pained, and Arabelle wished she knew what he was thinking in that moment. She wished she could tell him to call the bluff. To take the risk. Bran's life was worth far more than her own. Hesitantly, he lowered the blade, still holding the woman by the hair. Suddenly, an arrow pierced the old mans heart, embedding itself slightly in Arabelle's shoulder. The man dropped the blade, and Arabelle screamed in pain before keeling over, gripping the ground as she cried out. "Fucking hell." She swore, gripping the ground litter before crawling over to Bran.

She could see out of the corner of her eye Robb throw the woman to the ground, and a bow aimed on her. Theon.

"Gods, Bran, that's a deep cut." Arabelle was breathless as she ran her fingers over the boys wound before ripping some of her coat, pressing it against the wound. Bran nodded, his eyes wide. "It doesn't hurt." Arabelle's shoulder was throbbing, she could feel the arrowhead and snapped off and embedded itself in her wound. "Are you alright?" Robb had rushed over, placing an arm on Arabelle's back and one on Bran's knee. She grimaced as his hand grazed her wound. "He'll be fine, just needs the wound cleaned out."

Robb's eyes stared in to Arabelle's, before they focused on his hand. He leant over, taking a better look at her shoulder. "You're hurt. It was stupid of you to put yourself at such a risk." Arabelle tied the cloth in place firmly before pushing herself back on to her heels. "I can handle myself." She hissed, her eyes focused on Bran. "It's just an scratch. I'll be fine." She muttered, pressing a hand against the tree before leaning against it. Robb's brows were furrowed in frustration as he leant over and took Bran in his arms, nodding to Arabelle before turning around to look at Theon.

"Soft little lad. On the Iron Island's you're not a man until you kill your first enemy. Well done." Arabelle glared at him, not quite seeing the humour in the situation.

Robb's expression was horrified as he took a few steps toward Theon, Arabelle still bracing herself against the tree. The arrowhead was still in her shoulder as she leant back, crying out in pain before she leant forward, gripping the bared roots of the tree.

"Have you lost your mind?" Robb bellowed, making no attempt to hide his anger. "What if you'd missed?"

Theon looked shocked. Like he was expecting thanks. Thanks that he honestly probably deserved. A risk that needed to be taken, as Arabelle saw it. Even with an arrowhead lodged in her shoulder. Hells, she'd done the same.

"He'd have killed your wife and your brother, then run you through." Theon glowered, his eyes intense.

"You don't have the right!"

"To what?! To save your wife's life?" Theon's bow was still trained on the wildling woman, though his attention entirely on Robb. "It was the only thing to do, so I did it."

Arabelle pushed herself off the tree, stumbling slightly as she took a few steps toward Robb. "Not his wife, actually. Yet." She met Robb's eyes briefly before looking to Theon. "There is an arrowhead embedded in my shoulder, Greyjoy. I have you to thank for that."

"Flesh wound for a life?" Theon muttered, his eyes questioning. Arabelle nodded her defeat, before gesturing to the woman. "What about her?"

The woman perked up as she noticed she'd been brought up. She crawled across the leaf litter and knelt before Robb, gripping her hands together. "Give me my life milord, and I'm yours."

Arabelle looked to Robb, knowing the choice he'd make. The noble choice. As always. What should she expect from a Stark? She thought the woman should be killed, struck dead. A few moments ago she would have killed Bran for his damn horse. She couldn't be trusted.

"We'll keep her alive."

The woman dropped to her knees, smiling thankfully and gripping her hands together tight, as if her prayers have paid off. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Theon hissed and took a rope from Bran's horse, tying the wilding woman's wrists tightly before securing the other end to Bran's horse. He jumped on the horse, securing the reigns in his hands before Robb passed him Bran, placing the boy in the front of the saddle. "I'll get the other horses." Theon muttered, before whispering a quiet 'heel' to his horse and slowly making his way to the opening, wildling woman trailing behind in her binds.

Arabelle was left alone with Robb once again, and for the first time since she'd known the Stark heir he looked absolutely livid with her. He huffed and took a few steps towards her, his Tully blue eyes burning through her own. "You could've been killed."

"They had Bran."

"Bran is not your responsibility." His tone was stern, almost as if he were saying 'come on. Test me.' "I will not have you risk your life for my family."

Arabelle stood up as straight as she could, grimacing as pain shot through her shoulder blade and she grasped at her collarbone for some sort of support. She looked him in the eyes, intent to hold her ground. "_You_ do not _have_ me doing anything, Stark. Would you rather I cower in distress when a big bad threatens me? Would you rather I scream your name and put you at risk instead? Would you rather I get you killed?" Robb's eyes did not move from hers his brows furrowed just as intensely as they had been before.

"That's not who I am. I'm not your fucking damsel in distress. I'm not a lady. If you want your damsel, if you want a bloody lady, you won't be getting that from me." Her eyes flickered from her feet to Robb's eyes, her pale blue eyes fiery as she stared him down. "I have killed people, Robb. I have stolen things. I don't have your fucking Stark honour." She spat at the ground before spinning to walk towards Theon.

"I don't need saving."


	15. fourteen

**A/N: **Hello beautiful people, I'm sorry I took so long to upload this update! I've tried to make it a little bit longer and even added in a little bit of Jon even though he was supposed to make an appearance a little bit later :) I'll be going to Cambodia again on Saturday for another month so my updating might be quite sparse, especially with shoddy internet. I'll try write up a couple of chapters before I go to keep you guys going until I get back. Leave a review and let me know what you think :)

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**fifteen**

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Theon had ridden Bran's horse back after the straps that braced the boy's legs had been cut, and Arabelle insisted she was capable of riding herself. Robb had insisted his brother and betrothed stay in sight and brought up the rear. Arabelle didn't object, she was in no mood to look at his face. When they had ridden through the gates of Winterfell Robb had dismounted first and taken his brother from Theon, insisting Arabelle follow him to Maester Luwin. She stood by the horses and watched Robb trot with Bran in his arms to the Maester's tower, not even looking back to see if Arabelle was behind him.

Theon cleared his throat, holding his reigns and nodding at the stable boy holding the other two. He averted Arabelle's gaze, not wanting to discuss the afternoon's events.

Arabelle stood and watched as the stable boy walked first, leading the horses back to their stalls.

"Theon..."

He had already taken a few steps with his horse, when he turned his face was laced with such a grim expression so out of character for the Greyjoy heir. He waited for her to say her piece.

"Thank you."

He nodded before huffing and skulking away, leaving Arabelle standing what felt like an empty courtyard, wincing as she straightened her back. She should have left her coat on when she went looking for Bran. Maybe the fur would have stopped the arrow.

No. She would have sacrificed her movement. It was over, and she wasn't dead. That was all that needed. She turned and walked for the Maester's tower, crossing her opposite arm to shoulder and bracing herself. She moved slowly, the ground was tacky underneath her feet, some remnants of mud from the wetness of morning. All the people who were in the courtyard so late in the afternoon had stopped, watching the fuss that the arrivals had made. Arabelle brushed hair behind her ear as she made her way past them, eyes straight ahead. She could feel their open-mouthed gazes burning in to the back of her head.

She stood in the doorway of the Maester's quarters, watching the Maester reach for a white paste and walked towards Bran, laying down in a cot beside the fire. Rob sat in a chair, his back to the doorway. His hand ran through his auburn hair as he pressed his elbows to his knees, leaning over and intently watching his brother.

"No need to stand at the door, Lady Benefort." Maester Luwin piped up as he knelt beside Bran, mixing the paste with mortar and pestle. "Please, come in."

Robb's head twisted around, his eyes wide and void of any emotion. It almost scared her to see Robb like that, without happy lines gathering around his eyes and that little spark in those beautiful blue pools.

Arabelle took a step inside, closing the door behind her. Robb stood, silently offering her the seat. She took it, too exhausted to argue. "You alright, little man?" Arabelle forced a smile as she placed her hand on Bran's foot. "Yes. I can't feel it." The Maester began to wipe the paste along the shallow cut; it made Arabelle grip his foot tighter. But he couldn't feel it. It was easy to forget, sometimes.

"Are you?"

Bran's voice was quiet as he held her gaze. Arabelle straightened her back slightly and forced a smile despite the pain. "I'm fine, pup. Just a scratch." She smiled at him and rubbed his leg affectionately. "I'm so proud of you. You're so brave."

The Maester gathered his mortar and pestle and pushed himself from the floor. "Let the paste set, Bran. Don't rub it off. I'll come by to dress it before you sleep." He looked to Robb as he made his way back to his medicine shelves. "You may take him now."

Robb hesitated and looked to Arabelle, eyeing her up and down before taking the steps towards his brother and scooping him up in his arms. "Ari, will you read to me tonight?" Bran asked as his brother lifted him. She smiled from where she sat and squeezed his hand with her fingers. "Of course, Bran." The boy smiled and squeezed her hand in return before his brother huffed. Robb's face was straight as he turned and took his brother from the room, struggling for a moment with the door before closing it behind him.

Arabelle sighed partly in relief and partly in frustration as she came to rest her elbows on her knees, left palm pressed to her forehead. Pain still radiated from her shoulder, sometimes it felt like it was spreading.

"Robb mentioned it was your shoulder." The Maester spoke as he stepped towards her, gesturing to her shoulder blade. "May I?"

She waved him off before sitting back up, untying the tight leather jerkin with some difficulty before prying it off, cringing as it peeled from her skin. Her breasts were wrapped, and she could feel wetness where the blood had trailed down and been soaked up by the cloth. The Maester's cold hands brushed against her skin, gently pressing a few inches from the wound and gradually getting closer. She grit her teeth hard, trying not to cry out. But he got closer… and closer… and closer. And then what felt like an inch from the arrowhead she squealed, cursing under her breath.

He sighed in what sounded like disappointment and stood back, making his way back to his medicine and pulling fresh herbs and pastes from his draws. "It isn't very deep. It won't take long to heal." Arabelle smirked as she looked back at the Maester. "Yeah, well it went straight through another man before it touched me." The Maester reached in to a draw and pulled from it what looked to be a plier of sorts. The sight of it made her shudder. "It's a shame he were not an inch taller nor you an inch smaller. It would have missed you entirely."

"Funny how that works."

Arabelle sat in silence as the Maester mixed away, his eyes always so focused on his task. "A raven came in the early hours of the morn, I trust you've heard." The Maester started, eyes never straying from his hands. She looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed. "I have not."

He stopped then, looking over at the girl with the arrowhead protruding from her shoulder blade. "Ah." He gathered his pliers and paste and made his way to her, placing his instruments down on the table by her chair. "I see no sensitive way to put it, my Lady. Lord Stark was attacked by Jaime Lannister and his men. He was injured in the confrontation, though he is well and resting now."

Arabelle's mouth gaped open and her eyebrows almost met as she turned around to look the Maester in the eyes. "Ned was attacked?! By the Kingslayer? Why was I not told immediately?" She hissed as the Maester gestured for her to twist her head around so he could start on her wound. "I was going to send for you this morn, my lady, though Robb said he would deliver the news himself." Arabelle cursed Robb, the stubborn bastard. "Why in the hells would Jaime bloody Lannister attack Ned? Has he lost his mind?" She heard the Maester lift the pliers and place a cold wrinkled hand on her shoulder above the wound so as to brace her. She grit her teeth hard preparing for the pain. "That is… perhaps the most alarming part of all this, my Lady. Lady Catelyn… she has taken Lord Tyrion Lannister prisoner." He pulled the arrowhead from her shoulder at that last word, leaving her crying out in pain.

"Gods be damned." She cursed, clawing at her back.

* * *

The fire around him cackled and spat, the fire on the wall-braziers, the fire in the fireplace. The fire in his heart. Jon sat with what Hobb had said was the best mead he had, mulling over his sorrows. His father, struck through the thigh by the Kingslayer. A man who he had the displeasure of meeting moons ago, the man who had belittled him for never having killed a man. The man who killed a king he was sworn to protect.

Why did his father ever go south? What about the girls? Gods, if anything happened to Arya, he would never forgive himself. The little spitfire was too feisty for her own good, her mouth often got her in more trouble than she could dig herself out of.

And worse, it was when he received news like this that he missed Winterfell all the more. He missed chasing Arya around the castle, watching Bran climb towers, sparring Robb whilst little Rickon watched and Gods forbid it he even missed Sansa and her red hair and childish voice. But it would never be that way again. Arya would probably be married next he saw her, grown up and fit to have children of her own. Bran… hopefully for Bran the same. How a cripple could have children was beyond Jon's comprehensibility. Sansa would be Queen, doting on her pathetic excuse for a King. And Robb would be Lord Stark… with his Lady.

Arabelle.

Jon had so lost himself in training that he often forgot his love would be married to his brother. He would think of her at night, think of her lips and her small hands. The lines of her stomach and each and every scar he used to kiss. In his mind, Arabelle was his and he was hers. But then times like this had to kick down the door to his peace, reminding him he would never have her. _Could_ never have her.

"I thought I'd find you in here."

Sam had his trademark smile on his face, his expression sweet and innocent as he came across his friend, making his way to sit with Jon. "I was helping Maester Aemon with the ravens… when…" Jon did not look up from his flagon of mead, and Sam fumbled for words. "I'm sorry." He said simply, his eyes flicking around as though he did not know where to look.

"Why were you with Maester Aemon? We don't have postings yet, Sam." Jon hardly knew why he was asking. He supposed he didn't want anyone else to know. He wanted it to be his burden, not someone else's. He didn't want people to take advantage of his weakness.

"I like talking to him… he has a lot of stories." Sam smiled, his eyes awkwardly falling to the floor. Jon sighed and took a swig of the mead, eyes focused on the fireplace before him. Sam was a good man, he might not be brave but he had the best of intentions. Unfortunately for him, Jon was nowhere near in the mood to talk to anyone.

He took a seat across from Jon, much to his annoyance. His large frame blocked the fire as he leant over the table and rested his arms before himself, eyes following the cracks in the wooden table.

"It'll all be alright, Jon." Sam tried to smile at him reassuringly, but even he could not hide the doubt.

"No. It won't."

* * *

Robb kicked over the footstool by his lounge chair, pacing around the room. He stroked his cheek as he mulled over the afternoon's events. Over the day's events, really. Seeing his brother surrounded by wildlings, frothing at the mouth at the prospect of killing him. Losing sight of Arabelle, only for her to reappear and open one of their throats and stop another from taking Bran. Only for her to get herself caught. That was not the Arabelle he knew. The Arabelle he knew was all talk and no. She wasn't a killer.

He lost his breath when he relived seeing that vile man holding her, wrapping himself around her waist and throat. He felt like being sick. He felt helpless. Even if he had surrendered, the man probably would have killed her. He might have held the Stark's for ransom, but he didn't know who she was.

And honestly, he knew what Theon did what was right. He saved Arabelle's life, he might have hurt her in the process, but he saved her. But what irked him was that it wasn't _him_ that saved her life. He was the one who risked it.

As if on cue, his door burst open. Arabelle's face was almost red, her blue eyes unusually dark. She looked like she was ready to kill someone. She was scantily dressed, only wearing pants and her breast wrap. Her shoulder had been bandaged, a bandage that extended to her arm in an attempt to brace it, Rob presumed. "Benefort." He muttered, bracing himself for what was to come.

"Don't you think you should have told me your_ fucking_ father was speared through the leg by the fucking _Kingslayer?!_" She hissed, some saliva spraying from her mouth. He sighed and brushed past her, closing the door behind her. "Could you keep your voice down?"

"Keep my voice down? Are you fucking kidding me? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was early this morn, I was going to tell you before-"

"Your mother is holding Tyrion Lannister captive? You should have told me this morning! I am to be your _wife_."

He sighed and made to walk back towards his lounge before she intercepted him, blocking him from escape. She may have only been up to his chest, but her ferocity stilled even him.

"You should have told me immediately." Robb rolled his eyes. "It is _my_ family, Arabelle! Not yours. Besides, was it not you who went to meet with Lord Tyrion _privately_ before he left?"

"You had me followed?" His face was unmoving. What did she expect? She took a breath, her eyes finally leaving him for the first time since she had arrived. "Your family _is_ my family, Robb."

"You should not have risked yourself for Bran." He muttered quietly, he swallowed as he looked beyond her shoulder, knowing what he was getting himself in to. She grit her teeth and scoffed, looking up at her betrothed. "What do you suppose they would have done to you were I not there? Wildlings do not fight _honourably_." She swallowed before looking him in the eye. "They would have killed someone. I did what had to be done. _Theon_ did what had to be done."

"Theon could have killed you, Arabelle!"

"And that wildling certainly would have! You did not feel his hands on your waist, his hands on your neck."

"Don't." He warned. He couldn't bring himself to say any more. The picture of that man with his hands on her in his mind made his blood boil. It made him feel just as helpless.

Arabelle's eyes widened in realisation, an unemotive smile passing on her face as she figured him out.

"You wanted to be the hero." She murmered, making to look him in the eye. "You _do_ want a damsel." She stood on her toes, trying to get as up in his face as she could. "_Save me, Robb, save me!_" She mocked.

He didn't touch her as he tried to move around her, to get away from her mocking. But she blocked him once more. "It's not about being a hero!" He yelled, breaking his cool. "I couldn't keep you safe, Arabelle. You-" His face felt so hot, his blood boiling under his skin and all he could imagine was that filth with his claws on Arabelle. "Seeing you in danger scared me almost to death, you fucking understand that?" He hissed, almost groaning in frustration. "I love you, Ari. Goddamnit but I love you! And seeing that man with his hand around your waist and knife to your throat… well that's the stuff my nightmares are made of!" He was breathing quickly, feeling the flush of his cheeks. And then he realised he had just said all of that out loud.

Arabelle stared at him, her face of mocking turning icy cold. Her eyes flickered between his eyes and the door behind him, as if she wanted to escape.

And then she pounced, standing on her toes and a hand wrapping around his neck to pull his lips to hers, kissing him desperately. He was startled, his arms hung by as side before he figured out what to do with them, wrapping them around her waist. Her hand cupped his face whilst the other ran from his neck into his hair, gripping it gently as her tongue slid across his bottom lip. They slammed in to the door, one of Arabelle's hands falling and running up his shirt, following the firm lines of his stomach. His hand ran from her mid-back up, before she squealed in pain. He pulled back and her hands dropped from his head to her waist as she tried to level her breathing. _Oh, Gods. Her shoulder._ Robb cursed at himself under his breath. "Ari… I'm so sorry."

"My fault." She whispered. They stood there in silence for a few moments as Robb's eyes traced her neck to her shoulder. Gods, but she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss every inch of her body, to hold her close and safely in his arms. But twice now he had royally fucked it up. Her eyes flickered from him to the door, as if to say 'Let me go." He sighed and complied, standing out of her way and turning to watch her leave.

"We can't wait until your parents return to be married." She whispered with her back turned to him. She faced him before taking off. "We will be married next moon, Stark."


	16. fifteen

**A/N: **Sorry for not updating in awhile! Things have been hectic here and Cambodia and I've barely had the time to sit down and right. I've had the weekend off and been to Bangkok and now had the last two days to myself, next week I'll be working one day and then it's the water festival! Hopefully I can write something this weekend in my downtime, but I can't make any promises. Thank you all for being so patient. I hope you enjoy this one. I feel like it's getting a bit repetitive with the stupid petty fights and bitch fits that Ari has, so I've elected to change things. Enjooooooyy~~~

* * *

**sixteen**

* * *

How could she have been so stupid? She huffed and puffed her way through the halls to her quarters, whipping open the heavy door as fast as she could managed and slamming it shut with her back, forgetting the wound she had only just had patched up on her shoulder blade. She sunk against the door, tears burning at her eyes and threatening to erupt from her eyes. Her face was so hot, with frustration or embarrassment she couldn't tell.

She was a mess. A complete and utter mess. She loved Jon, she loved him so fiercely. But there she was, rushing in to the arms of another so soon. His brother, no less. Fate was a bitch like that, she supposed.

She gathered her thoughts for a while before standing, using the door behind her to push herself up. She took a light linen shirt that rested on her bed and threw it over herself as fast as she could manage with her shoulder before taking a book about the rebellion and bounding down the hallway to read to Bran. There was no doubt he'd noticed she was already late.

"What took you so long?" Bran called from his bed, fingers laced as his arms rested upon the furs that dressed his bed.

Arabelle stammered slightly, brushing out some creases of her shirt before taking a few steps toward his bed, trying to smirk slightly. "I was getting patched up, cub. Would you rather my shoulder fester and I die of infection?" She held the book up and thumbed the spine, smiling down at it.

"Better than dying a cripple."

Arabelle's eyes flicked up to meet the boy's, her hands fell to her side and book slapped her thigh. "Bran." She warned, though she honestly had no idea what to say to the lad. To him, he must feel like he'd lost everything.

"What book would you like me to read?" She asked, changing the subject as she wandered over to the small stack of books upon his clothes trunk.

He pointed at the book resting on her thigh. "What did you bring?"

She smiled as she thumbed the spine. One of the first copies of the book that had been made. Three copies sent to two Lord's and a King. Her father had gifted it to her. "My first copy about the rebellion. 'The Stag, The Wolf and The Fox'."

Bran rolled his eyes. "I know all about the rebellion. So do you." Being children of the Wolf and the Fox, people were always willing to tell you great stories about the rebellion. Everyone except the two men who had spearheaded it with their King.

She smiled as she came to sit next to Bran on his bed, smiling down at the book before looking him in the eyes. "I think you'd be surprised, pup."

"Really?" Bran's tone was dry, his eyes glazing over with a sense of scepticism. "I've heard everything about the rebellion six times over."

She smirked at him and brought her legs up to the bed, crossing them and rocking back and forth like a child. "Did you know that the Wyllsand's were planning to marry my mother to your uncle?"

Already, he was taken aback. His voice was quiet as he tried to hide his sudden absence of confidence. "I thought that was mother."

She smiled and tapped his nose, placing the book in her lap and leaning back on to her palms. "No, my dear. Lady Catelyn of House Tully was to marry Lord Alyn of House Benefort, Lady Mariesya of House Wyllsand to Lord Brandon of House Stark."

"And why didn't they?"

Arabelle looked at the brazier on the wall before looking back to Bran sullenly. "Complications."

"Like my uncle and grandfather being executed?"

He wasn't the most discreet person she'd ever come across, little Bran. And already too clever for his own good. "Well… in a matter of speaking, yes." She sat up again as the stretch in her shoulder had become too much to bear, instead hunching her back until she was comfortable.

"The Wyllsand's are filthy, filthy rich, cub." Her tone took on a similar tune that she used around Tyrion, laced with sarcasm and cynicism.

"I thought that was the Lannister's." It was an all too common mistake to make, that. Most thought that it was the Lannister's with the most power in the Kingdoms, given their prominent position at court. But it was well known among those who made it their business to know, the Wyllsand's were far more powerful than most would think.

"Both. Though the Lannister's money is slowly depleting the longer Robert is King. It is the Tyrell's and Wyllsand's that are faring best this day." And the Tyrell's and the Wyllsand's were with whom most had been wanting to curry favour.

Bran's eyebrows creased and his tone turned sceptical. "So a few marriages didn't happen and your grandmother is the richest person in the Seven Kingdoms. How exciting."

Arabelle smirked and pushed herself up, moving to lie next to Bran on the bed. She wedged herself between him and the wall, wrapping an arm around him before she continued. "Have you heard about the tale of the Witch of the Woods?"

"The lady who rained down fire. Old Nan talks about it all the time."

She nudged him slightly. "I seem to have been stricken forgetful, so please little one, remind me?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes before opening his mouth. "The Witch of the Woods was a crazy hooded woman who intervened in the battle of the Forks. She rained an incredible fire upon the Targaryen troops, wearing them down. They say it was _magic_." He shook his fingers with the last word, mocking the tale.

"Alright with the tone, little man." Arabelle laughed and squeezed him slightly. "Do you believe it?"

He swallowed as he considered. "Father never told me, and he was there."

Arabelle brought a hand to the boys head and brushed the hair out of his eyes. He would need it cut soon, it had grown so long since he had first fallen asleep. "But did you ever ask?"

"Yes."

Far too trusting in fathers, children were. Gods knew that she still was. "Did he say no?' Bran's voice was no longer as confident and sceptical as it had been before, instead he was considering Arabelle's words. "He didn't talk about it."

She rested her elbow on the bed and propped her head up with her hand, her smile playful as she rolled on to her side to look Bran in the eye. "Do you want to know a secret? Something you can never talk about with anyone else?"

"What?" He scoffed, chuckling as the absurdity of her words no doubt sunk in.

"You know the Witch of the Woods." Her smile faded, and her eyes lost their playful spark.

"What?" This time, Bran's tone was less sceptical and erring more on the side of disbelief.

"You've met her." Arabelle's eyes searched his, and she plainly saw the lad filtering through every single face he'd lay eyes upon his entire life, desperately trying to rationalise what she had said in his own mind.

As he found nothing, he smirked, convincing himself that Arabelle was only having a lend. "Is this when you tell me it was you?"

She smiled then, her trademark smirk spreading across her face and spark igniting itself behind her eyes. "Eighteen years ago I was in my mothers belly, Bran! No, Gods no." Though she brought her other hand up to his face, tapping his nose gently. She brought her voice down, and scarcely, her voice barely above a whisper, told him. "My grandmother."

Bran's eyes widened, his mouth gaped open. "Liza?" The woman who had spent a large amount of time with Bran in the last month, who had said goodbye to him not a week before.

"Lady Elizanda Wyllsand. The very same." She whispered once more, not exactly eager to be shouting the name from the rooftops.

Bran's face looked as though he'd seen a ghost, though a flicker of a smile begged to let itself loose at the corners of his mouth. His excitement was barely contained. "She has magic? She can summon fire?"

"She has…. Something." Arabelle smirked. "Though it was not fire."

Bran's eyes were still wide, the smile finally spreading widely across his lips. "Something?"

Arabelle nodded. "Something." She held his gaze for a moment more before pushing herself up, launching herself off the bed and grabbing her book as she stood, brushing down the front of her oversized linen shirt. "I'm going to bed, pup."

"You said you would read to me." He did not want her to read, though. He wanted her to talk. Wanted her to tell him everything she knew about Lady Wyllsand. Everything she knew about the witch and that rebellion.

She made her way toward the door, projecting her voice as she walked. "And you said there was nothing to read." She smirked at him over her shoulder as she gripped the door to his chambers in her free hand. "Good night, Bran."

* * *

The water in the godswood was still, so perfectly still, that it reflected the blood-red leaves and snow white trunk of Winterfell's weirwood so miraculously that it might as well have been a mirror. To think that these great trees once surfaced all around Westeros, that their magnificent structures and mighty red leaves had not been such a rare sight.

It was almost unthinkable.

Though his mother had pressed for her children to learn of the New Gods as well as the old, for them to make up their own minds, he had always felt more comfortable in this very wood than in the Sept. He felt comfortable looking in to the eyes of the weirwood and praying to the gods that his father's father and his father before him had all prayed to themselves.

He was praying a lot lately.

Praying for his mother, and her safe passage and a clearer mind. He prayed for his father, that his attackers should face justice while he recovers swiftly. Praying for Arya and Sansa, that wherever they were they were safe and not too far from their lord father. Praying for Bran, that one day he might walk again. Praying that soon his family would be home, and little Rickon would no longer be distraught.

He prayed that Arabelle would be happy. That she would smile like she had the day before, running around while Bran chased her on his horse. That he could make her smile like that.

It was selfish, but he couldn't help it. He would fight tooth and nail every damned day to see that smile.

It was rather silent this time of night, he could hardly hear an animal stirring, nor the slight breeze of the wind. It was an eerie silence, yet somehow he thought of it as the gods paying attention. Like they were truly listening to his prayers.

A twig cracked behind him, and instantaneously he drew his sword from its scabbard and spun around, facing the origin of the noise. His blue eyes searched the darkness, squinting as he tried to make out any shapes. But there was nothing.

Until a shadow emerged, pacing slowly towards the moonlight. His grip on the blade grew tighter as he rose it, still unsure of the threat. Until the shadow made it in to the dim light of the moon.

"Didn't know you were one for a late night prayer, Stark."

He lowered his sword, sheathing it and sighing as he turned around to sit back down, almost rolling his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Benefort?" He slumped down, defeated. He dropped his head between his knees and ruffled his hair before sitting up and squinting in to the shadows. "What do you want?"

He could scarcely make out her form in the darkness; only catching glances of her as she slowly made her way through the leaf litter to him. "I came to pray. Much the same as you." He could almost hear the smirk play across her face, her sarcasm was blunt. "Do you often pray late at night?"

His head fell in to his palms once more, cupping his tired eyes and dirty face. He was in no mood to humour her, to test whether she was hot or cold. He had had enough of that for one night. "It seems to be the only time I have alone these days."

She scoffed then, getting so close he could see her feet from his hunched form, hear her breath. "Well. I can take a hint." Twigs cracked as she spun on her heels. "I'll leave you to your prayers and wait to make my own."

"No… don't..." He reached out and grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly in his own. He pulled her back to him, and she obliged. She sat next to him, hand still in his. "I can't take this anymore, Arabelle." He rarely ever said her name. It was always Benefort, Fox... maybe the occasional 'Ari'. But never Arabelle. He still hadn't looked at her, instead he looked to their hands. His thumb caressed the top of her hand, mindlessly roaming. "I had this dumped on me, too. This title, these responsibilities. I didn't get to choose either." Arabelle stayed quiet, her hand limp in his. He didn't care. He would say what he had to say.

"One minute you're nice to me, as nice as we've always been. You'll joke with me, we'll make each other laugh. Like a few weeks ago, when your father and brother left. When I took you to the larder, and we ate so much food we almost burst." He paused, thinking about how best to word what was to come next. "The next, you're angry at me, you act like you hardly know me. Sometimes I deserve it, I know. I should have told you about mother, and father. But you were having so much fun with Bran, I didn't want to worry you. And then…" He sighed. He looked to her hand and laced his fingers with hers. "It is as you said. We are to be married. And we should make it as easy as we can for each other. Gods know that we have enough trouble as it is."

She was silent, her hand still limp. He was only hoping she was considering his words. And then her hand gripped his, and he could hear her swallow. "I suppose I put on a good act in court." Her voice was quiet now, any note of sarcasm lifted, leaving behind a sad, small voice. "Maybe in another life I would have been a performer. All of that bullshit I spit, I'd be fantastic at it." She used her free hand to wipe her nose. "I don't have it together. Not in the slightest. That courtroom, Lady Benefort bullshit is just that. Bullshit." She squeezed his hand and looked to them, interlocked, thumb mindlessly exploring her wrist. "I know I've been awful.. I..." Her voice cracked, he could hear the lump in her throat. "You… you said you loved me… but everyone who loves me… they… they leave…" A droplet fell on to his hand, though it was not rain. He looked to her face, bathed in moonlight. Her eyebrows were creased, her eyes closed. He let go of her hand and put his arm around her. "Please don't leave me… please."

Her face sunk in to his chest, and he pulled his coat from his shoulders to wrap it around her. He could see the chills in her arms, that she only had a linen top to bear the brunt of this weather. "You beautiful, daft sod. I could never."


	17. sixteen

**A/N:** Hello beautiful readers! How have you been? First off, I just want to apologise for being MIA since October! Shit, that went fast, eight months!? Just a quick update, I hung out in Cambodia until mid-November then came home to Australia and chilled for summer, eating heaps of fruit and stuff before heading off to Thailand for a HUGE family holiday with my extended family and hung out in Cambodia a little more before heading back to uni! I've changed degrees so I'm under A LOT more pressure than usual, life has been so hectic so I haven't really had the time to sit down and write for a long time. Not to mention I hit a huge block, I wasn't happy with the content that I was writing so I decided to stop until I got my shit together. Thankfully, I kind of did and I've realised the direction that I want to go in with this story (definitely not where I was heading before!) and that I wasn't doing Arabelle's character any justice. Anyway! Here's a fairly lengthy update that has us getting towards the end of season 1! (Seriously why has it taken me SEVENTEEN CHAPTERS to even near the end of season 1?) I hope you enjoy and please review!

* * *

**seventeen**

* * *

It was a colder night than usual in Winterfell, the chill keeping Arabelle awake most of the night despite being curled up in what felt like all the cotton and fur that Winterfell had, even her fire barely warmed her. She'd woken early, before the roosters had even started singing, though this time she couldn't fall back in to her slumber.

Instead, she pulled the covers from her legs and sat up, taking a candle from beside her bed and creeping over to the fire to light it. After placing it back down beside her bead, reached for the book she had left on the table, intent on at least being _productive_ if she were to be awake. It was an old book, one about poisons and their antidotes. Or, lack thereof. It was something that intrigued her, something that she had been told her entire life that was a 'woman's weapon.'

She was slightly startled by the rapping on her door, so engrossed in the semantics of nightshade that she'd almost forgotten where she was. She cleared her throat quickly, assuming it to be a maid who had seen the glow of light from her room. Her eyes flicked over to the door, observing the grey and wrinkled Maester slowly step inside, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

"Maester Luwin." Arabelle cleared her throat, folding the corner of her current page before closing the book and placing it down. "I did not expect a visit from you so early in the morning." She tried to smile as she looked at the weathered man, doubting that he'd just come for an inappropriately early cup of tea. "I came to change your bandages, my lady." He bowed his head, revealing from beside his further arm a small bag, with what Arabelle assumed was full with poultices and bandages. She nodded, pushing herself to sit up properly as he made his way over to the bed.

"It is rather early in the morn, Maester." She swung her legs around the side of the bed, watching her feet dangle as she heard the soft footsteps of the Maester slowly nearing. "Forgive me, my lady, though I saw the light from your room." He sat his bag down beside her, gesturing to her shoulder and waiting for her nod before pulling the hemline of her bed gown down her arm, revealing the wound. It was healing nicely, though to those who were not used to the practice it may look otherwise. She raised her eyebrow at him as if to ask him _what else is there_, and he sighed before opening his bag. "Whilst I have come to care for your wound, I would also seek counsel from you." He pulled a poultice and bandages from the bag, laying them next to her before reaching to the current bandage, ready to pull it off.

Arabelle's eyebrow lowered as her eyes left the Maester. "You would ask for my counsel?" She was curious, that the man who had essentially played counsellor to all of Winterfell would seek the counsel of anyone, let alone her.

He only nodded, still peeling away at her bandages. "I would." She grimaced as he pulled the last layer from her wound, some of the crusted skin coming off with the bandage. "Well then…" she grit her teeth, waiting for the pain to slowly subside before speaking again. "I simply must know." He pulled from his bag a letter, placing it in her hands before reaching back in to grab cloth, pressing it against both ends of the wound to stop the slight bleeding. "I received it not one hour past." He nodded to the letter. She looked down to her hands then back to him, waiting for one last nod to confirm that she could just read it. Gods knew whom it was for, who it was from and whose eyes it wasn't intended to meet.

Arabelle felt the cool poultice against her skin, raising a hand to cover her mouth as her eyes searched for the Maester's. "That Is Sansa's pen." The Maester took the bandages in hand, standing under the pit of her arm and slowly beginning to wrap. "Those are not Sansa's words." Arabelle hissed. "I assume you haven't shown Robb yet."

"Your assumption would be correct." The Maester breathed, concentrating on wrapping across the wound itself. Arabelle dropped the letter in to her lap, her mouth wide. "When Robb sees this…."

The Maester nodded, beginning to bring the bandage across her shoulder and along the top of her arm. "It could start a war. With Lord Stark incarcerated, with Sansa in the Queen's grasp, Arya missing…" Arabelle scoffed at him in response. "Men have warred for less." Arabelle muttered, running a hand through her hair. The Maester tied the bandage and tucked it in, placing the poultice and cloth back in his bag. "Indeed they have." As monotonous as his speech was, she could see the worry on his face.

Arabelle bit her lip as the Maester rose to his feet, slinging the bag back over his shoulder. "Robb won't bend the knee. Not when they have his family." She looked him back in the eye, her words quiet.

"Then there will be war." Maester Luwin sombrely stated, straightening his stance as his eyes came to look in to hers.

Arabelle looked up at the old Maester, her eyebrows furrowed. "Why did you seek my counsel?" She took the letter back in her hand, holding it up to pass it back to him. "There is nothing I can do, this letter is not intended for me."

"No, but I respect you, and your mind is sharper than almost all Maester's I know." He sighed as he took the letter. "Because I need someone else to tell me there is no other way."

Arabelle bit her lip, pulling the hemline of her bed gown back over her shoulder. "I'm afraid not even I could convince Robb…" She sighed as she looked at him. "He has his own mind." She pushed herself off of the bed, looking out the window to see the first light breaking. "There is nothing I can do. Nor you, good Maester." She lightly stepped across the room, the cold stone felt like ice on the soles of her feet. "The only card that we have to play is Tyrion Lannister. Forgive me if I'm not convinced that a trade of prisoners will help." She put her hands on her warmer robes that were draped over the lounge in her room, gripping them and taking them in her hands. She turned around to look at the Maester once more. "This is a complete and utter mess." The Maester took a few steps toward her, looking at her solemnly. She looked to the door, her eyes flicking back to the Maester. "I'll join you." He nodded, walking towards the door to give her the privacy to change in to warmer, daytime clothes. He paused at the door, looking back at her with a sad smile. "Thank you, my lady."

* * *

Predictably, Robb had been breaking his fast with Theon in the hall. He'd been waking up earlier of late to get through all of his lordly tasks, meaning he broke fast earlier than Arabelle, Bran and Rickon. Maester Luwin had strode in, his hands in the opposite sleeve as he walked. Arabelle followed, her robes slightly heavier than usual to compensate for the colder weather. Her hair had not been tended to, her face clean and body clean of any perfumes and oils she was usually covered in. Her face completely bare, the first time Robb had seen her without in a long time. And she was still every bit as beautiful as always.

Robb only glanced at the Maester, continuing to eat his bread before seeing Arabelle, standing almost instantly at the sight of her. "Maester Luwin, Lady Arabelle." Arabelle nodded at him, not intending to correct his formal addressing of them. Maester Luwin closed the space between him and Robb, taking his hands from his sleeves and holding out the parchment for him to take. "A raven arrived, not an hour past." Robb's eyes watched the Maester, the older man's eyes averted his own gaze and his brow furrowed with worry. He'd already read the letter, then. Theon's eyes looked to the Maester and Arabelle, their expressions were similar. He looked to the letter, seeing the broken Baratheon seal. His eyes widening with realisation. "They've already read it. You would read a letter than was intended for your Lord?" He hissed, standing up from the bench. "You showed _her_ the letter before Robb?" Arabelle's eyes flickered to Theon's, her jaw clenching and eyes narrowing. "You think you can just stick your nose in to your Lord's-"

"Enough, Theon." Robb barely looked over his shoulder at his father's ward, his tone authorative and warning. Theon's jaw hung wide, "You would just let her-" Robb turned slightly, looking Theon straight in the eye. "I said enough." He turned back toward the Maester, his eyes examining his sullen face. "I would have preferred to be the one to break the seal, but I have no doubt the Maester holds my best interests at heart." The Maester nodded his understanding. "And if I cannot trust the woman who would be my wife, then who?" Theon grit his teeth, lowering himself to sit back down. Robb looked to Arabelle, locking eyes with her briefly before hers darted to the letter in his hand. He followed her cue and opened it.

_Dear brother._

Arabelle watched his face carefully, taking note of his expressions as he read. She thought that maybe by his expressions she could tell which part of the letter he was reading.

"Treason?" He asked, looking to Maester Luwin. "Sansa wrote this." Maester Luwin nodded at the young lord. "It is your sisters hand, that is of no doubt." Arabelle took a step forward, her eyebrows near meeting with worry. "But those are not her words. We have both come to the conclusion that the Queen has forced her to write this." Arabelle shook her head. "Sansa is as much a prisoner as your father."

The Maester cleared his throat, looking Robb in the eye. "You are summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the King." Robb's expression was one of disbelief, his mouth slightly opened and eyes angry. "Joffrey puts my father in chains and now he want his arse kissed?" Arabelle looked to the Maester, the expression still the same, as it had been when he'd come to her chamber. He knew it was futile to try to convince a Stark to let go of their honour. "This is a royal command, my Lord. If you should refuse to obey-"

Robb cut him off, his eyes hardly betraying his anger. "I won't refuse. His Grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing. But not alone." He paused in thought for only a second, before uttering a command. "Call the banner's."

"All of them, my Lord?" The Maester had predicted the outcome of Robb's reading of the letter, to say he was unsurprised was an understatement. Robb's eyes did not shift, his stern demeanour did not falter. "They've all sworn to defend my father have they not?" The Maester nodded "They have."

"Now we'll see what their words are worth."

The Maester bowed his head before turning to leave the room, exchanging a glance with Arabelle as he did. Robb sat down, exhaling sharply with wide eyes as he did. Arabelle took a seat next to the man that she would marry, unsure of what she could say or do. She couldn't change his mind. There was no hope in that. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his knee, a small forced smile spread across her lips for a moment as he looked at her.

Theon straightened his back, looking to Robb. "Are you afraid?" Arabelle's eyes flicked from Theon to Robb, her betrothed raising a shaking hand from his lap. "I must be." Theon had that smug smirk on his face. "Good." Robb's eyes went from his hand to the Greyjoy heir, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Why is that good?" Theon stood, looking down at his friend. "It means you're not stupid." He stepped over the bench, nodding at Robb before leaving the room, leaving Robb with Arabelle.

She could have said something. She could have yelled at him that honour was not worth starting another war. But she didn't. She took Robb's shaking hand in both of hers, looking down to them as she ran a thumb over the back of his hand.

"I'll send word to my father." Arabelle whispered, tracing a raised vein on Robb's hand. He shook his head, "No. I'll not involve the Benefort's in this."

"You're refusing the King, Robb. You're going to need all the help you can get." She looked him in the eye for the first time in days. "My father loves Ned like a brother. If you're going to dine with lions, I'm sure he'd appreciate at least an invitation to the feast." He thought on her words for a moment and nodded. "I'll send word to him myself." Bloody Stark honour. Though in honesty a letter from the man waging the war rather than word from his daughter on her betrothed's behalf would earn the respect of Alayn Benefort.

She nodded, looking back to their hands, still running her thumb over its surface.

* * *

Not a few days later, the Stark's bannermen had gathered at Winterfell, a Feast held in their honour before the Northern army went South. Plenty of wine and ale filled the hall, meats and cheese graced everyone's plates with sparse vegetables – it was getting colder in the North, farming proved a harder bounty than it used to be. Though there was no point in ordering much produce for when the Stark forces march South.

Arabelle was sat next to Robb at the head of the table, dressed in robes befitting a lady of the North and warm furs around her shoulders, Theon sitting to the left of Robb and Bran to Arabelle's right. She was the only woman in the room, Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey had not arrived in time for the feast. She felt the lingering gazes of the men watching her as she ate and talked to her betrothed and his brother. She giggled at Bran as she spoke with some crumbs of his food near his mouth, taking it upon herself to wipe it from his face. She had not been talking to Robb so much in the last few days; he was too busy making preparations for the march South. She'd cared for Bran and Rickon more than usual, sitting in on their lessons and going for walks with them, accompanied by Hodor carrying Bran, of course. They had seemed to warm up to each other since that night in the godswood, though. Their interactions were less frigid and cold.

He placed an arm around her, resting it on her waist. She glanced at him, but smiled before any confusion could cross her face. They had to put on a show, a united front.

A loud, booming voice came from across the table, Arabelle's eyes darting from her betrothed to the man who graced the other end of their table. Greatjon Umber. "For thirty years I've been making corpses out of men, boy!" He lowered his head and raised his eyebrows. "I'm the man you want leading the vanguard." Robb's face fell from the smile that had graced it before, a look of frustration washing over his face. "Galbert Glover will lead the van." He asserted, taking his hand from Arabelle's waist and resting his elbows on the table. "The bloody wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover!" The Greatjon yelled, an air of disbelief about his tone. She'd met the Greatjon only once. Where the Stark's had honour, the Umber's had pride. "I will lead the van, or I will take my men and march them home." Umber softened his tone slightly, though it didn't change the fact that it was a demand he was making, not a question. "You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber." Robb's eyes darted to the man, his eyes focused and only slightly narrowed. His hands met, his fingers tensing slightly as he wove them together. He nodded very slightly before standing, Arabelle's eyes flickering from the Greatjon to the Stark. "And when I am done with the Lannister's, I will march back North, root you out of your keep and hang you for an Oath-breaker."

"Oath-breaker, is it?!" The Greatjon yelled, flinging his wine from the table and standing abruptly, his nose flaring and ears practically steaming. "I'll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass!" Lord Umber went straight for the dagger at his belt, flicking it in to his hand. Theon and Arabelle both stood up quickly, Arabelle grasping beneath her robes to the dagger she kept in her boot. Before she could draw it, Grey Wind jumped on to the table, darting as fast as lightning towards the Greatjon, lurching at him and pushing him down. Arabelle could not see, but she could hear the Greatjon's screams and Grey Wind's growls. By then everyone in the hall was on their feet, watching as Grey Wind claimed two of Jon Umber's fingers for his own. Lord Umber grasped his hand, slowly rising back up as the direwolf backed off from him. As he rose, Robb stared him down. "My Lord father taught me it was death to bear steel before your liege lord. Doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me." Arabelle gripped her drawn dagger tightly as the two men eyed each other down.

"Your meat?!" Lord Umber yelled, blood gushing from where his fingers used to be. He eyed the men around him before smirking slightly. "Is bloody tough."

He broke in to a manic sort of chuckle, a chuckle that the men in the room seemed to adopt, before the whole hall had started laughing, Robb included. The only two not laughing were Arabelle and Bran. Arabelle smiled, like a lady should. "I am sorry for the lady being present for this." Greatjon nodded to the Benefort girl, her hand on Bran's shoulder as she looked over at the bleeding man. "Not the first time I've seen a direwolf take a man, my Lord." She smiled sweetly before sitting down, dropping her hand from Bran's shoulder. The rest of the room slowly followed her lead. Robb placed his arm back around her waist, holding her tightly to him.

* * *

Robb kept his arm around Arabelle's waist as they left the feast hall, being some of the last to leave. Maester Luwin had come for Bran not fifteen minutes after Greatjon's fingers were taken from him; Theon had stayed behind to keep drinking with the other men. "A roaring success, if I say so myself." Arabelle smirked, her hands interlocked in front of her as they walked through the cold corridors of Winterfell. "It isn't a proper Northern feast without a few lost limbs." Robb smiled back at her, a small but courteous smile. She glanced at him and could something in his eyes. She looked back to her feet, the two walking in silence until they reached her quarters. Robb's face looked strained as they came to a stop, his arm dropping from her waist.

"Ari…" He whispered, taking her hands in his. "You know we march tonight." He ran his thumbs over her small and calloused fingers, not looking her in the eye. Arabelle looked to their hands, nodding slightly. "I know." She whispered. She took a hand back, cupping it to his cheek before smiling sadly, lowering it and pulling on the hand he still held as she pushed open the door to her room. He followed her, slightly hesitantly. She let go and walked towards the lounge, untying the leather straps that held the heavy fur cloak over her shoulders. Robb's eyes darted to the wall, not wanting to be intrusive of her privacy.

She pulled the cloak from her shoulders, folding it over the lounge that was set in front of the fire. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Robb was looking away and chuckled a little to herself, unbuttoning the heavy woollen robe she had worn to dinner and slowly slipped out of it, placing it next to the coat that lay on the lounge. "You don't have to look away." She smirked as she rested her hands on the lounge behind her, leaning it to it as she faced him. He glanced back over at her once, then twice as he realised that she wasn't nude. She was dressed in light leathers; evidently she'd worn them under her gown. "Gods, I was sweating like a pig with that on." She nodded over to two trunks by the door, stacked on top of one another and smirked.

"You can't come with us." Robb uttered quietly, his eyes showing strain. "It's too dangerous-" Arabelle stood up straight, crossing her arms as she looked at him. "My place is by your side, Robb. We may not be married yet, but I don't intend to let you march South alone." She walked up to him, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at him. "It's too dangerous for you as well, Robb. But did I try to stop you?" He looked away as she got closer, still not looking at her as her hands took his. "I won't ask you to risk your life for my family. Not after the wildlings." Arabelle smiled as she looked up at him. "You didn't have to ask."

She walked back over to her cloak, turning it over and reaching for a letter in the hidden pocket. She stepped back over, the seal marked with the deep purple fox of House Benefort. Arabelle smiled as she placed it in his hand. "My father and my brother march with you. Their bannermen too." She squeezed his other hand tightly. "All of the North is with you." He looked at the letter in his hand, unfolding it slowly and skimming it, his eyes widening as he read the words of his betrothed's father. "Maester Luwin gave it to me when he came to fetch Bran." Robb didn't smile, though relief was spelt all over his face. He took Arabelle in to his arms, her head pressed against his chest. "There is no fighting you on this, is there?" He whispered as he pressed his chin lightly on the top of her head. She shook it slightly; he could feel her smile spreading. "I'll send word immediately for your trunks to be collected." She looked up at him, pulling away from him slightly. "We must say goodbye to Bran and Rickon, then." She stated, turning around to take her coat from her lounge, draping it around her shoulders and tying it around her shoulders once more. "Aye." Arabelle quickly opened her trunk, strapping daggers to her belt and small vials in her pockets before lifting a compartment of the trunk to reveal her bow. Black as night, it was, the light slightly illuminating it as she pulled a quiver over her shoulder, followed by the bow. He raised an eyebrow at her. "You Stark's have your swords, I have my bow." She smirked. Robb opened the door to her quarters, gesturing for her to lead. He'd send someone for the trunks when they had said their goodbyes.

They turned towards Bran's room, making their way quietly through the halls. When they'd arrived at Bran's room, Robb had lead them inside, Arabelle quietly behind him. Robb sat on the side of his bed, placing a hand on his shoulder and softly shaking him awake. Bran's eyes shot open, flickering groggily between him and Arabelle. "What is it?" He asked, his gaze falling to the sword at Robb's hip. Robb shushed him slightly. "What's happened?" He asked, pushing himself up with his arms. "It's alright." Robb whispered. Bran's eyes slowly cleared, looking over his brother. They flickered to Arabelle, taking in her attire and the bow slung around her. "Where are you going?" Robb placed a hand on his brothers, looking him in the eye. "South. For father." Bran's eyes were sad, his brow's raised in confusion. "But it's the middle of the night." Arabelle stood forward, making her way besides the other side of the bed and sitting beside him. "There are Lannister eyes everywhere, pup." She took his other hand in hers and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "They can't know that we are coming." Robb finished. Bran looked between the two of them, his eyes questioning. "They have more men than we do." Robb looked to Arabelle. "Aye, they do." Arabelle squeezed the boy's hand softly. "My family will help." Bran looked at her for a moment before looking back to his brother. "Can't I come with you? I can ride now, you've seen me riding and I won't get in the way I prom-"

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell" Robb cut his younger brother off. "Until I return that will be you." Arabelle kissed the young boy's hand as his brother spoke to him. "You must not leave the castle walls while we are gone, do you understand?" Bran nodded. "Listen to Maester Luwin, look after your little brother." Bran looked in to his brothers eyes, for once not opposing everything that he was being told. "I will." Arabelle looked to Robb. "We'll send letters whenever we can, pup. I promise you." Arabelle smiled warmly. "But if you don't hear from us, don't be afraid." Bran nodded once more to the both of them. Robb sighed and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Until I return." He stood, Arabelle letting go of his hand and standing to lay a kiss on Bran's forehead before following Robb out of the room. She looked back at him, offering only one last smile before walking down the hall once more, in search of the youngest Stark.


	18. seventeen

**A/N:** Have another one. I'm procrastinating, can you tell? Eight hours of lectures I have to look forward to tomorrow! Yay!

* * *

**eighteen**

* * *

It was a long ride South, the Northern armies riding almost all hours of light the day provided. It was no leisurely ride, no stopping for a nice luncheon in the openings of a valley. Arabelle had first ridden in the group behind Robb's, assigned her own guard, just in case, Robb had stressed. She did not like being so far from him, being watched like a hawk, but she supposed that she be appreciative she even rode with them at all. Over the days they rode, she slowly worked her way up to Robb and the vanguard, riding only paces behind him beside Theon.

They weren't clear of the North yet, she knew. She'd ridden South many times before, though only once so far as the Capital. But with the snow falling, it was rather obvious to even those who had never been South before.

The Northmen had set up a camp not hours before, just before sundown. The Benefort's had not yet joined the Northern armies, though she recognised the area to be not three days ride from the Nightfort. She supposed her father and brother could arrive at any moment.

Before they settled for the night, Robb had called for a meeting of all the head's of the houses that had marched with him. He had charged off for the tent not two over, a tent that was set purely for the meeting. He had not spoken to Arabelle since they arrived not inviting her, nor barring her, from attendance. Though, without her father there, she supposed she _was_ representative of House Benefort.

She had taken off towards the tent, still dressed in her leathers and heavy coat draped around her shoulders. As she arrived at the tent, it became plainly obvious that she was late, most of the Lord's sitting around a table with a map spread across it, with lions, wolves and fish placed atop it. Arabelle was in plain view of the Lord's, the only one not facing her was the one she was to marry. They all stood as she approached, bowing their heads at her. She nodded at them, placing a hand on her betrothed's back as he turned to look at her. He offered the smallest of smiles before looking back to the map, the men returning to their seats.

"We do not have the numbers to meet Tywin's forces head on." He muttered, gesturing towards the lion piece that was furthest South. Arabelle looked around at the men as they nodded their agreement, eyeing a fox piece placed in an open box beside the map. She lifted it, placing it beside the wolf. "With Benefort men, it's a start."

The Lord's rose once more, Arabelle's face twisting in confusion before turning her head, seeing none other than Catelyn Stark entering the tent, Ser Rodrik Cassel in toe.. "Mother!" Robb smiled, turning to face her. His smile faded quickly though, as did the relief from Catelyn's face. A large and broad hooded figure with a slight flaming beard stepped out behind the elder Master-at-Arm's, a cheeky grin on his face emerging as he took in the sight of the small Benefort girl beside Robb.

"Doran!"

Arabelle's face lit up, lurching forward and jumping in to his arms, gripping him so tightly she thought she might suffocate him. He reciprocated, lifting her off the ground slightly before placing her back, holding her head to his chest. "You got shorter." He smirked, the two pulling back from their embrace as they remembered where they were. "Lady Catelyn. You're a welcome sight in these troubled times." Greatjon Umber bellowed from the back of the tent, nodding his head. Theon added to the sentiment. "We had not thought to meet you here, my Lady." Doran stood tall, clasping his hands behind his back. "Nor did we expect to see Doran Benefort in your company." Theon added. "I had not thought to be here." She said, her face cold. "I would speak with my son. Alone." She emphasized, "I know you will forgive me, my Lords." Greatjon placed his hands on his hips, his deep voice loud as always. "You 'eard her. Move yer arses!" And slowly, they filed out of the tent, Greatjon telling Theon to shove off as well. "Have no fear my Lady, we'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's dunghole, and then it's on to the Red Keep to free Ned." He tone was surprisingly optimistic, the faces of both Stark's dead straight, as they looked each other in the eyes.

The Greatjon clapped a hand over the Stark Master-at-Arms back, gesturing towards the camp. "You ole' devil Rodrik!" Ser Cassel smiled at his old comrade, following him off in to the camp "Jon." Arabelle approached Catelyn, taking her hands in her own and squeezing them gently before stepping aside, taking Doran's arm, leaving her to speak with her son.

* * *

She had lead Doran to her tent, not wanting to speak with him within earshot of the entire Northern army. They strode in to the tent, Arabelle unwrapping her arm from his and taking a seat on her bed, gesturing for him to sit beside her. "Where is father?" The first question that had come to mind after the relief of seeing her twin had faded from her. Not something she was willing to ask in front of every lord and his dog. "Why are you alone? With Catelyn?" Doran chuckled slightly. "Slow down there, chummy. Breathe." He clapped a hand to her back nodding back in the general direction of where they had just come. "Father is no more than a day's ride, we met Catelyn and Rodrik on the road, he insisted that I accompany them and send word of our arrival." He put a hand on his sister's knee. "He didn't trust Lady Stark's life with just anyone, dear sister."

Arabelle's eyes looked at him warily, sizing him up before taking him in her arms once more. "I missed you." She whispered in to his shoulder. "Aye, and I you." He smiled, wrapping an arm around her back. "Nightfort's not been the same without you. Mrs. Flynnt is, as I predicted, less than impressed with my flattery." Arabelle chuckled as she rested her head on her brother's shoulder. "Flattery? That's what you call it these days?" She had almost managed to forget that it had been a few months since she'd last spoken with her brother. Her smile grew smaller as she looked back in to her eyes, concern spelt all over her face. "And mother?" Doran's grip on her tightened and his smile grew. "She's fine. You worry too much, honestly. Noma too, she's kept mother company in your absence." He let go of his sister and rose, taking a pitcher of wine that sat upon a table at the end of her bed and poured himself some.

"The River Lord's have been overrun by the Lannister's, Doran." She nodded to the wine and her brother passed her the mug he had just poured, taking another for himself. "When they find out that we're marching South with the Stark's, that could give them enough reason to take Eastcrest." She run a hand through her hair as she looked at her brother. "They're making their move on the Tully's." Doran finished pouring his wine, taking a small sip before looking down at his sister. "Mother already sent word to them – they will deny any involvement. They're already sworn to the crown." Arabelle looked at her brother, her eyes rolling. "Weren't we all?" He nodded as he came to sit back down with his sister. "Precautionary. At least until the North is favoured." He took a larger swig of his wine this time. "They're Southerners. They're in more immediate danger than we are if they refused the King."

She understood. Politics is what it came down to, really. Arabelle considered her father to be somewhat of a political mastermind, for a Northerner. But he was not always the logical and calm man she knew him to be. He was just as any other – a man who was ruled by his emotions. And that man had already lost one brother; he would be determined not to lose another.

"It seems as though you won't be married as quickly as we thought." Doran smirked, raising his mug to his mouth. Arabelle playfully pushed his shoulder. "Nor you." She sipped on her own wine before speaking again. "Though I wonder who you will be wed to." His eyes met hers. "You heard that it fell through, then." He sighed as he took another sip of wine. "Father wants me to marry a girl from a noble house, though there are none of our age." Arabelle rose a finger as she sipped, indicating she had to object. "Asha Greyjoy." She smirked. Doran rolled his eyes and placed his wine down behind him. "I suppose she is the only one of age."

He nodded to her shoulder, some white of the bandage visible by her neck. "What happened there, Belle?" He asked. She looked to her shoulder, spotting the bandage before shaking her head. "Oh, you know. Theon shot me through the shoulder. It's healing well though." Doran's eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. "Theon did that to you?!" She chuckled slightly and rolled her shoulder, it'd been getting stiff as the wound healed. "He saved my life doing so. Wildling had me by the neck, knife at my throat." Doran looked at his sister, stunned. "Your life has been far more eventful than mine, it would seem." Arabelle chuckled as she raised the wine to her lips. "It's going to leave a beauty of a scar." Doran put a hand on his sister's knee. "Oh, I'll bet."

Arabelle looked at her brother's hand, swallowing as a thought she had purposefully pushed to the back of her mind revealed itself. "Noma told me when she visited Winterfell she had visions." Doran laughed, placing his wine back on the table. "Old bat always has visions." Arabelle wasn't smiling, and her stern expression made her brother's smile falter. "She said she saw my death in the South." She didn't meet his eyes, couldn't meet his eyes. His mouth opened as if he were going to speak, but he closed it before saying anything. "They can be cryptic, Belle. It could mean something else entirely. It could be in years, when you're old and fat and happy." She forced a smile, looking her brother in the eyes. "I suppose you could be right."

* * *

The twin foxes had caught up; telling each other what had happened over the months they'd been apart. They slowed down with their wine and had walked together back to the meeting; they'd been informed that it would resume after Catelyn had interrupted it. Doran was now representative of the Benefort's, though Arabelle still had her place in the makeshift council. As they arrived, Doran lowered his hood and took his place at the end of the table, opposite Robb. Arabelle was not sure where to stand; she was not a Stark yet, though she'd been by Robb's side for weeks. Catelyn stood by Robb, her face stony as she watched the men file in behind the Benefort's. Arabelle stood to the right of her brother as she saw Theon take Robb's other side.

"Thank you for your patience, my Lords." Catelyn looked to all of the men around the table. Greatjon Umber nodded to the lady, "Right then. Where we left off." Theon put his hand down on the map, finger placed on the Twin's crossing. "Robb's right. We need that bridge." Doran put a hand on his hips, the other brushed against his jaw. "Lord Walder Frey isn't exactly the most courteous of men, it won't be easy to pass." Greatjon sighed as he stood up straight. "So what will it be? Do we march against Jaime, or Lord Tywin?" Arabelle went to open her mouth but before she spoke the sound of armour clinking together and loud footsteps sounded behind her. Doran pulled up his hood as soon as he heard the noise, a simple precaution but necessary nonetheless. The Lord's all turned around, Arabelle and Doran following suit.

Two guards came in holding a roughed up man between them, his fists clenched. "I beg your pardon, milord's, "We've captured a Lannister scout." Theon immediately threw one corner of the map over, covering it from the man's eyes. Doran kept his head lowered, his face not visible from under his hood. Greatjon scoffed, "Don't worry lad, he won't be leaving this tent with his head." Arabelle looked to Robb, his face as cold and determined as his mother's. "Where did you find him?"

"In the brush above the encampment. He looked to be counting." The guard responded, his grip on the scout's arm still tight. Robb began to make his way around the table; his eye's never leaving the scout. Doran stepped back as Robb closed the distance between himself and the Lannister's man, Arabelle following and filing in beside her brother and Greatjon. "How high did you get?" The scout looked around, long brown hair in his eyes as they flicked around the people who would kill him. "Twenty thousand, maybe more." He said begrudgingly, meeting Robb's eyes for only a second. Arabelle grit her teeth. He had counted too high. And the Benefort army had not even met the Stark's yet. Doran was right to wear his hood, with his distinct looks he'd stand out like a sore thumb, and then Tywin would have warning of the Northerner's reinforcements.

"You don't have to do this yourself. Your father would understand if-" Ser Rodrik Cassel's voice came from behind them, where Robb had stood moments before.

"My father understands mercy when there is room for it." Robb turned back to his Master-at-Arms, his brow furrowed and eyes warning. "And he understands honour." Cassel nodded his understanding to his Lord, Robb turning back around to face the scout. "And courage." He paused, looking the man in the eyes for a few moments.

"Let him go."

Everyone's eyes widened, mouths opening slightly as if to say something but not wanting to go against his word. Even the scout looked dumbfounded. "Rob…" Catelyn stood up behind them. He looked back to his mother, locking eyes with her for a moment until she looked away. His face was so determined. He turned to the scout once more, leaning in close to him, speaking just loud enough that their end of the table could hear.

"Tell Lord Tywin winter is coming for him. Twenty-thousand Northerner's marching South to find out if he really does shit gold." He stood back, looking down at the man as he nodded. "Yes, my Lord." He stuttered. "Thank you, my Lord." Robb nodded his head to the right, indicating for the guards to get rid of the man. The Greatjon took a step forward; his eyes wide as he opened the drape of the tent, watching the guards take the scout away.

"Are you touched, boy?! Letting him go!?" He bellowed, his eyes narrow. The Greatjon towered over the Stark Lord, staring him down. Though Robb did not falter.

"Call me a boy again. Go on." His gaze was icy as he challenged Lord Umber. The larger man glared down at him for a second more before grunting, charging out of the tent.

* * *

Robb sat at the small table in his tent, head in his hands as he examined the map, trying to think of ten other ways they could proceed. But there only came one, one that could be successful, one that could outplay the larger army. In a matter of months he had been forced to become a Lord, from playing cards to waging war.

"Stressed?"

He looked over his shoulder to see Arabelle standing at the entrance of his tent, arms folded and a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. He stood the second he had realised who it was. "Your guards are still there, relax." She smiled at him, unfolding her arms. "You're quite tense, Stark." He nodded and turned to sit back down. "From running a castle to leading an army in just weeks. It's taking some adjustment." She followed him, standing in front of the table and examining the map.

"My grandmother doesn't trust Walder Frey." She pointed at the Twin's. Robb sighed. "The River Lord's call him 'The Late Walder Frey.' His forces showed at the Trident only after Robert had won the battle." Arabelle folded her arms once more, raising a finger over her lips, tapping them as she thought.

"He's going to want something in return." Robb nodded, folding the small map back up and dropping his head into a hand. "We'll come to that when we get to the Twin's." He felt Arabelle's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Father will be join us within a day, we may have less bannermen than you, but he brings a force eight thousand strong. A force that Tywin Lannister is not anticipating." Robb's eyes opened, looking ahead. He nodded before meeting her eyes, pleading with her slightly. "I've had enough of tactics and armies for one day, Ari." She nodded, her eyes apologetic as she took her hand from his shoulder.

"Would you have killed him?" He asked her, pressing his elbows in to the table as he stared in front of him. Arabelle looked down at him, her eyebrows creasing in concern. "He had over counted our numbers, letting him go means deceiving Tywin. And one of the only ways we will win this war is through deception." Robb sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hand. "But would you have killed him?" Arabelle bit her lip as he eyes examined his face. "I would have." She knelt beside him, her hand finding his knee.

"But I do not have your honour. Nor mercy." She squeezed his knee as he took his hand from his eyes. He lowered his hand and put it on hers, sighing. "I apologise for being so absent. I've had other matters on the mind." She smiled very slightly at him, "You don't need to apologise, Robb. You're leading an army." He lifted his fingers, hesitantly raising them to her face, brushing along her cheek. "That night after the wildlings, when Maester Luwin had patched you up." He whispered, his eyes glancing at the bandage that peaked out slightly at her neck. "I meant what I said. Every word." His hand traced down to her jaw, trailing along it. "I am sorry that instead of a wedding feast we instead have a war." Arabelle smiled at him, lifting her hand and interlocking it with the fingers that grazed her jaw. "I'll consider it an early wedding gift."

She pushed herself up from her knees, leaning in to press a soft kiss his forehead. "I am with you. Every step you take." He tilted his head up, locking eyes with her a moment before pulling her face to his, pressing his lips against hers. It was the most at peace he'd felt in weeks. Her lips were soft and warm, the warmth of their faces radiating off one another.

Their kiss grew more passionate, more forceful as Robb brought a hand to her neck, gently pulling her on to him. She complied, unstrapping the leather of her heavy fur cloak and dropping it to the ground, placing her hands on his neck and feeling the warmth of him under her. Arabelle ran her hand under his linen shirt, running her hand over the lines of his toned stomach, resting it on his chest. His hands gripped her waist as her tongue danced along his lower lip, her taste as intoxicating. Her other hand slipped under his shirt and she drew back from their kiss, aggressively pulling his shirt off and throwing it behind him as she leant back in to meet his lips. His hands went from her waist to the straps of her leather jerkin, unstrapping it as her hips rocked in to him slightly, getting as close as she could to him.

He untied the last strap of her jerkin and dropped it, his hands running to her waist and down further, her linen undershirt brushing against his chest. Her hands were warm around his neck, running in to his hair and gripping him as their kiss deepened. He ran his hand under her shirt and brushed his fingers along the small of her back before gripping the bottom of the shirt tightly, leaning back in to the chair and leaving her lips as she helped him bring it over her head. Their lips found each others once more, both taking in as much of each other as they could, grasping each other tightly as her hands disappeared behind her back, fumbling with her breast strapping. She leant back with a grin on herself, chuckling under her breath as she unwound the strap from her chest as his mouth met her neck, placing kisses down to her collarbone. He heard a soft drop as she pressed her chest in to his, feeling her flesh against his for the first time. Her skin felt so warm, her face flushed as she leant back in to kiss him once more. His hand cupped her breast, grazing over her nipple gently before running down, under her. He stood, lifting her with him as she tied her legs behind her back, leading her to the fur-covered bed.

* * *

_P.S_

Just want to apologise for those of ya grotsky little beyotches who may have been disappointed I ended there, I'm not any good at smut so it's for the best, believe me!


	19. eighteen

Leather creaked as Arabelle slowly pulled her from over her chest, gripping it in one hand and watching intently as shadows moved in the dark window of the stone tower not half a mile from where she had perched herself. She was crouched upon a fallen tree, staying to the shadows that the not-long risen sun cast. Theon was not too far from her, fifty paces maybe. Robb had asked him to shoot down any raven that the Frey's sent, and Arabelle had insisted she'd come. She was just as good a shot as Theon, if not better, and she'd hardly done anything the whole trip South other than stand beside Doran and bite her tongue. It had been slow goings – the ravens were harder to spot at night, though thankfully none had flown for hours.

They'd headed towards the Twins the morning after Doran and Catelyn had joined them; Doran riding hooded much further back than the Stark party. Though most of Westeros may not have met the young fox heir himself, his unique colouring would no doubt leave little to anyone's imagination as to whom he could be.

Arabelle had woken before the sun had risen that morning in Robb's arms, her face pressed against his chest and the furs of his bed brushing her cheek. For a moment she had almost forgotten that they were at war, and that they were far enough South that it wasn't cold enough for her to see her own breath. Quietly, Arabelle had kissed his head and slipped out of his embrace, dressing herself quickly before sneaking out and hugging the shadows that the slowly rising sun created.

Gods, but she was so lost. In just a matter of months her entire world had completely changed, the man she loved was lost to her, she was left alone to live without family, she'd come to love another and when she'd begun to realise this they'd only been marching off to war. She scoffed as she took a bite of an apple, rolling her eyes as she thought of the war. She had only seen war once, when she was a babe. The Greyjoy Rebellion. She'd seen how it hurt her father, how it hurt so many.

Arabelle dropped her apple as she saw more movement in the window, raising her bow and drawing an arrow, nocking it as she stared up. A black flutter of wings emerged, flying out quickly in her direction. Her eyes followed it and she slowed her breath as time seemed to slow, letting loose her arrow a few metres in front of the bird, colliding with the raven as it flew bringing it down.

She perked up, slinging her bow back over her chest as she pushed herself up, fixing her coat as she began to walk over to her kill. It was cold, though the Southern sun was much kinder than in the North.

"Decent."

Theon smirked as he stepped out from behind a tree, nodding towards the opening where lay the raven. "Beat you to it, Greyjoy." Arabelle hit his arm before continuing.

"I let you have it, Benefort." He scoffed.

She lowered her hood as she smirked at him, a playful smile that had never failed to frustrate him in their youth. They stepped in to the small clearing where the raven lay, Theon watching the tower as Arabelle crouched down to untie the note from the raven's claw.

She cursed under her breath as she read it.

"A birthday message to his niece. He knows we're shooting them down." Theon gripped his bow tighter as his eyes narrowed on the tower. "So we will _keep _shooting them down." He huffed as he kicked the raven's body, stalking back to the forest brush. "You take that to Robb." He called out over his shoulder before disappearing in to the shadow of the trees. Robb had asked for one of them to report back soon after sunrise, and technically it was Theon's shift. She pushed the note in to a small coin purse attached to her belt and drew her hood before making the walk back to the Stark camp.

As she had started to approach the camp she saw five figures standing on a hill, watching the tower, as she had been not minutes ago. As she got closer, she saw a full-armed escort keeping their distance from the five, though watching them intently. She fixed her hair slightly as she approached and brushed the dirt from her clothes; she hadn't expected Lady Catelyn and Rodrik Cassel to be waiting for her. She was still hooded, so at most she'd look to be a scout. Not Arabelle Benefort.

"My Lords," she bowed her head before looking to Catelyn. "My lady." She bowed slightly deeper, but as she saw Cat's eyes flick to her hand she rose, taking a step towards her betrothed. She gave him the note, speaking of it's purpose as he read it. "A birthday message to a grand niece. Nothing more."

The hooded man to the right of Robb scoffed. "So he'd have us believe."

Catelyn nodded. "We must keep shooting them down. We can't risk Lord Walder sending word of your movements to the Lannister's."

Arabelle lowered her hood, raising her eyebrows at her brother. "My sentiment's precisely, brother. Though a report was requested after sunrise." Her eyes went to Catelyn's, any note of impatience leaving her tone. "Theon is still in the trees, we had come to such a conclusion ourselves. I will join him again, with your leave, my Lord." Her eyes never met Robb's; instead she bowed her head slightly to him.

"No, Arabelle. You need rest." She knew he hated when she called him Lord. But she couldn't call him Stark or ruffle his hair and play games in front of all of his men. She couldn't even kiss him let alone touch him in sight of anyone before they were married. If they ever married.

Doran nodded and cleared his throat. Arabelle had been the one to suggest he distance himself from the main party, staying hooded or disguising himself. Even now he stood to the side with a Stark banner in hand, playing the part of a sworn sword. She kept her distance from him when in the open too – they didn't need anyone's suspicions about his identity. It was one thing one great house going to war – two was an entirely different matter.

"I assure you, my Lord, I am rested." She stood tall, hands behind her back as the wind swept her cloak.

Robb looked at her with concern in his eyes. It was the first he'd seen of her last night. "You've been out there for hours. It would give me peace of mind knowing you are safe and rested, my lady."

Arabelle opened her mouth to protest but upon locking eyes with Doran, she nodded. Unlike little Arya, she knew when to give in. She looked over her shoulder at the tower they all stared at.

"He's grandfather's bannerman… we can't expect his support?" Robb looked to his mother, his brows furrowed.

"Expect nothing of Walder Frey and you'll never be surprised." The Greatjon's voice was deep but far quieter than she'd heard it before.

Arabelle's eyes narrowed. "Look." She said, watching two riders carrying the Frey banner approach them.

"Father rots in a dungeon." Robb grit his teeth as his eyes followed the Frey men. "How long before they take his head?" He sighed and locked eyes with Arabelle briefly, his heart was heavy and his eyes were sad. The sadness left and the anger came, with it he stood taller. "We need to cross the trident and we need to do it now."

Arabelle almost scoffed, almost spat words out in her sarcastic and mocking tone, but she didn't. She sighed, though Doran seemed to do his work for her. "You can't very well march up to his gates and tell him you're crossing." His tone wasn't so much mocking as a warning, though she could still hear the Wyllsand wit in his voice.

She turned her head to look at the riders once more, taking in the Twin's as she turned her head back to look in each of the makeshift council's eyes. "We might have more men, but tell me the last time Walder Frey let someone cross the twin's without paying a price?" Arabelle's eyebrows were creased as she spoke, looking more to Catelyn, Rodrik and the Greatjon.

Catelyn sighed as the Greatjon looked between her and Doran. "Tywin Lannister marches North as we speak." He bellowed.

"The Frey's have held the Twin's for six hundred years, and for six hundred years they have not failed to exact their toll." Catelyn's eyes met Arabelle's and she nodded at her future daughter in law.

"Have my horse saddled and ready." Robb spoke, his eyes still transfixed on those bloody towers.

Arabelle's hand snatched his wrist, gripping him tightly. "You can't." Her eyes were wide as she swallowed back her fear. She didn't trust in Walder Frey. She'd heard the stories. How her father called him a cretin.

The Greatjon's eyes, as had all the others, had gone to Robb's wrist in Arabelle's hand. She let him go, stepping back and apologising with her eyes, looking to the ground. She wasn't supposed to challenge him. Not in front of his men.

"In to the Twin's alone? He'll sell you to the Lannister's as he likes." The Greatjon spoke, speaking what had run straight through everyone's mind.

"Or throw you in a dungeon. Or slit your throat." Doran added. Cheerful chap, as ever.

Robb stood tall, his face stone cold as he watched the riders get closer. "My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took." He swallowed back any of his doubt as his gaze locked on to the Twin's. "If I'm going to lead an army I can't have my men bargaining for me." Arabelle's eyes pleaded with him. He was right, sending men to do his work was not the way of a Northern man. It was not the honourable thing to do.

"I agree." Catelyn nodded as she watched her son. "I'll go."

"You can't." Robb protested.

"I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl. He would never harm me." Her tone was firm and sure, it would probably be convincing if Arabelle didn't know her so well.

Doran sighed. "Unless there was a profit in it." He stood forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. "I will go with you."

"No, Doran. You can't show yourself to anyone until father joins us." Arabelle shook her head at her brother and bit her lip.

Doran cleared his throat as his eyes met his sister's. "He will join us soon. He's later than we've expected, but he'll join us soon." He turned to Robb. "Give me Stark armour and run coal through my hair. I will go to protect Lady Catelyn."

Catelyn smiled as the young fox and curtsied slightly. "You honour me, Doran. But you cannot go for the same reason that Robb cannot." She looked at Arabelle straight in the eyes. "Lady Arabelle will come."

Robb and Doran both grew defensive, gritting their teeth. "She needs rest, mother." Robb muttered.

"No, no. She's right." Arabelle crossed her arms as she looked at them all. "What use would Old Man Frey have with two noble ladies? He doesn't know father is supporting you yet and I'm not yet married, he has no reason to shove me in a dungeon to wait for the Lannister's.

Doran sighed. "He could still suspect Benefort support."

"Or he could suspect I'm just another young lady who's fallen for a young Lord. I can bring more to bargain than Lady Catelyn alone." She brushed her hand along the string of her bow as her eyes flickered between her brother and her betrothed. "And I can protect the both of us should there be need."

Doran fell back in to line, nodding once his hesitant approval before looking to Robb. Robb's eyes pierced her, looking her up and down as his brows furrowed in worry. He knew she was capable. He sighed as he raised an arm signalling the need for horses.

"What do you want?"

The hall was full of Frey bastards and their children, a few trueborn in amongst the lot. She had heard stories of Walder Frey's vast family, though seeing a throne room packed to the brim just with relatives had surprised Arabelle. She stood with her hood still drawn with her hands clasped behind her back, standing only a few paces behind Lady Stark.

Catelyn faked a smile as best she could, switching in to her Lady Stark persona much as Arabelle had attempted at being Lady Benefort. "It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, my lord."

"Oh, spare me. Your boy is too proud to come before me himself. What am I supposed to do with you?"

Arabelle bit the inside of her cheek as she heard his voice, his blatant disrespect of the daughter of the Lord he had sworn fealty to.

Lord Walder's heir spoke up. "Father, you forget yourself. Lady Stark is-"  
"Who asked you?" The Late Walder Frey spat, "You're not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead to you?"

"Father, please-" A bastard begged from the other side of the room.

"I don't need lessons in courtesy from you, bastard!" His voice rung throughout the hall and a fiendish smile spread across his lips as his hands caressed the bottom of a young girl standing by him. "Your mother would still be a milk maid had I not squirted you in to her belly."

He rolled his eyes and pointed at Catelyn, sinking back in to his chair. "All right. You, come forward." And she complied, moving toward him slowly and stepping on to the wooden platform his chair sat upon. He took her hand, exaggeratingly kissing her ring as she looked on in disgust, face as stony as it often was.

"There, now that I've observed the courtesies, perhaps my sons would do me the honour of shutting their mouths." His sons did, and slid back in to their chairs as their father smiled ever so smugly.

Catelyn's eyes wandered around the room, examining her surroundings carefully. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Walder's eyes flicked from her to the ceiling as he pretended he could not comprehend what she had said. "We're talking right now."

They locked eyes for a time before Walder Frey exhaled in defeat. "Fine." He raised a hand and his voice as he dismissed the room. "Out, all of you!" They all filed out orderly, some of his children had appeared to be dressed in rags.

"You too." He slapped the arse of the girl whom he'd been fondling whilst hosting two Ladies of great houses. "You see that?" He leant in to Catelyn, smirking. "Fifteen she is, a little flower." Arabelle almost felt herself gag. "And her honey's all mine." _Disgusting._

Arabelle leant against a pillar as the old Frey's eyes flicked to her, looking her up and down. "Did I stutter? Get out!" He spat, pointing an old wrinkled hand dotted with age spots towards the door. She chuckled slightly as she rose her head and pulled her hood down. "Careful there, my lord. Lest you insult two ladies this day."

Catelyn stifled a smile at the young foxes tone. "My lord, may I introduce Lady Arabelle Benefort."

He didn't look nearly as bothered as another man might have in his place, but Arabelle could see the hesitation flash across his face. "And why have you come?" Walder Frey's eyes pierced her as he looked her up and down, walking towards a table holding mugs of wine.

"To keep Lady Stark company on behalf of the man I would marry." Her thumb ran across the hilt of a dagger strapped to her belt. "You must forgive him his absence, but one can never be too careful."

"Must I?" He rose a mug of wine to his lips, swallowing deeply as his beady eyes swept over the two women. They settled on Lady Stark as he drank before placing his mug down gently on the table he leant against.

"Your father didn't come to the wedding."

Catelyn swallowed and nodded, not looking him in the eye. "He is quite ill, my lord."

"He didn't come to the last one either, or the one before that." He was smirking somewhat as he spoke. Smirking like a man who thought he was right. "Your family has always pissed on me." He pushed himself off of the table and turned to grab his mug of wine once more.

Lady Stark stuttered. "My lord I-"

"Don't deny it." He scoffed. "You know it's true. The fine Lord Tully would never marry any of his children to mine." He took a sip of his wine before looking to Arabelle. "Nor the Wyllsand's."

Arabelle's eyes flicked to Catelyn. She was unsure of what to say – if she were honest the Frey's were one of the least desirable matches across the houses, though she could not speak on behalf of her mother's house. "I'm sure they had reasons."

His tone grew sour and his lips thinner. "I don't need reasons. I need to get rid of sons and daughters. You see how they pile up?"

Lord Walder watched them both intently as they avoided his gaze, examining their faces. "Why are you here?"

"To ask you to open your gates, my lord. So my son and his bannermen may cross the trident and be on their way." Catelyn took a small step forward, clasping her hands together almost as if she were pleading.

"Why should I let him?"

Arabelle spoke up. "Twenty thousand Northern men stand outside your walls, my lord. At one point or another, they will fight their war." Lord Walder stared at her. "Should I expect the entire Northern armies at my gates, then?" She buckled under his gaze and shook her head. "I am standing by the man that I love. I would not involve my family."

He scoffed as he took another sip of wine, and Arabelle cursed at herself, hoping she'd been in the slightest bit convincing.

"They'll be twenty thousand Northern corpses when Tywin Lannister gets here." He cocked his head slightly at Catelyn. "Don't try and frighten me Lady Stark. Your husband's in a cell beneath the Red Keep, and your son's got no fur to keep his balls warm." His eyes met Arabelle's. "And you are alone, no family or armies to scare me with." She tensed her fingers slightly. Oh, how she wished she could tell him the opposite.

Catelyn's face grew cold. "You swore an oath to my father."

"Oh yes, I said some words. And I swore oaths to the crown too if I remember right." He put his wine back down, standing tall and clasping his hands. "Joffrey's King now, which makes your boy and his corpses-to-be nothing but rebels it seems to me. If I had the sense the Gods gave a fish I'd hand you and your son over to the Lannister's."

Arabelle's eyebrows furrowed as she took a step forward, crossing her arms. "Why don't you?"

"Stark, Tully, Lannister, Benefort, Baratheon." He paused as he turned back towards his chair. "Give me one good reason why I should waste a single thought on any of you."

Arabelle grit her teeth as she and Catelyn followed him. "I can promise two marriages. I have four unwed cousins, two of age. Two Wyllsand's, a Benefort and a Reed."

Lord Walder sunk into his chair and sighed. "What gives you right to make such matches? Only the Lord's of the house can-"

"My grandmother has been trying to marry off two of my Southern cousins for some time. She will welcome the match." Arabelle interrupted him. "And my aunt, Susanae Reed, want's a Southern husband for her daughter." She brushed her hand against her chin as she thought. "My uncle is not so politically inclined as my father, though I have a feeling he may be open to the marriage. The Benefort is the only match that I cannot guarantee, my lord." She bowed her head slightly as she stood back, glancing at Catelyn briefly.

"Three marriages, then." Arabelle nodded.

"But-" He spoke, tapping his old bony fingers on the arm of his chair. "Why would I open my gates for three marriages, each to bannered houses?" His lips curled in to a smirk, revealing his yellowed crooked teeth. "When I could open them for marriages to a great house?" Arabelle looked to Catelyn, her brows furrowed.

"I… my youngest three are not yet promised to anyone. It will be years before they are of age." Catelyn hesitated. "I have plenty of sons and daughters, Lady Stark. Of all ages, if you'd observed before." Catelyn has only seconds to think. Gods, he'd be insulted if she suggested Bran.

"My youngest daughter, Arya, does not yet have a match." Walder Frey's eyes lit up with what Arabelle thought were golden stags. "And so we will make her one." His smile grew twisted as he looked between the women. "But I'm afraid if I'm to risk so much for your son, I will require a more… substantial offer."

Arabelle's hands clenched as she glared at him. "Forgive me, my lord. But I am already betrothed to Lord Robb."

He smiled an evil smile as he nodded at her. "But you are not yet wed, if I am not mistaken?" He knew what he wanted, and he knew that he could get it. She could protest, she could say that her father was already marching South and he would promise Doran to a Frey girl, but if she said anything she could betray the one advantage that they had over the Lannister's.

It was up to Catelyn. Losing both chances they had at the Benefort-Stark marriage, or giving up valuable information about their movements and numbers. Arabelle's eyes flicked to her, a sadness welling up in her throat as she realised the stakes that they were playing for.

"After the fighting, when my son turns around to march his troops home." Catelyn's voice was barely above a whisper, her anger emanating through her tone. "He will marry one of your daughters."

"When does Aemon think you'll be able to use that hand?"

Jon had not been waiting in Night Commander Mormont's chambers for long before the Old Bear had arrived. He'd been nursing his burnt hand; the night before a dead ranger they'd retrieved from beyond the wall had risen, heading to the Night Commander's chambers. Mormont had stood at his door in only his nightgown holding a lamp in his hand as Jon fought the dead man, finally resorting to taking the lamp in his hand and throwing the flames at the ice cold corpse with the eyes as blue as anything he'd ever seen.

Before that he'd been isolated; Alliser Thorne had taken a jab at him in the food hall, mocking his Lord father for his treason. Jon had been vulnerable; he let his temper get to him as he tried to jump over the table and attack the malicious old crow. He'd been confined to his quarters with just Ghost to keep him company as the older crow's decided what was to be done with him.

And then he saved Mormont's life.

"Soon he says." Jon held his burnt hand.

The Old Bear nodded. "Good. You'll be ready for this then." He picked up a sheathed sword from behind his table. "I thought a wolf was more appropriate for you than a bear, so I had a new pommel made." He smiled proudly as Jon took it in to his hands. "Called Longclaw, works as well for a wolf as a bear I think."

Jon lifted the sword slightly from the sheathe, his eyes widening as he looked at the quality of the blade. "This is Valyrian steel."

The Night Commander nodded. "It was my father's sword. And his father before him. The Mormont's have carried it for five centuries." He sighed before he continued. "It was meant for my son, Jorah, he brought dishonour to our house but he had the grace to leave the sword before he fled from Westeros."

Jon shook his head. "My lord, you honour me, but I can't."

"Oh you can, and you will. I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for you and your beast." The Night Commander took a swig of honeyed wine as he leant against the table. "Bloody dead man tried to kill me. So you'll take it. I'll hear no more about it, understood?" He looked Jon in the eye with a firm expression. "Don't think this means I approve of this nonsense between you and Alliser Thorne. That's a man's sword. It'll take a man to wield it."

Jon nodded as he lowered the sword. "I'll apologise to Ser Alliser tonight.

"No you won't."

Jon looked at the Night Commander, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I sent him to King's Landing yesterday. The hand that your wolf tore off that thing's wrist. I've uh, ordered Thorne to lay at the feet of this boy King." He chuckled slightly as he thought. "It should get young Joffrey's attention. And it put's a thousand leagues between you and Thorne. Now go and put your sword somewhere safe. And bring me my supper." Jon offered a small smile as he turned towards the door "Yes my lord."

As he made his way to the food hall he was clapped on the back by his brother's, each of them proud of his actions that night. He was greeted by smiling faces as he entered the hall, Pyp and Grenn eagerly approaching him. "Come on then, let's have a look." Pyp smirked. "At what?" Jon exhaled, seemingly bored. "The sword!" Pyp grinned. "Show us the sword!" Grenn cheered, before Pyp started leading the rest of them in to a chant._Sword, sword, sword, sword!_

Jon handed Grenn the sheath before pulling Longclaw from it, twisting it as the light danced along the metal of the blade. They all cheered and Jon smiled before passing the pommel to Grenn, allowing his friends to have a good look at his new steel.

As they all ran off trying to get their own looks at the sword, fighting slightly between themselves, Jon walked over to a lone Samwell Tarly, huddled over a book and candle. Jon sat with his back against the table, smiling as he watched his brothers fight over the chance to be the next to get a good look in.

Jon looked his best friend up and down, his face tense as though he was holding something back. Sam wasn't the best liar around. "What is it?"

Sam looked to him with a gaping mouth, stuttering slightly before exhaling in defeat. "I can't."

Jon rolled his eyes. "You can't what?"

He stuttered again, conflicted over whether or not he should say what was on his mind. "I'm really not supposed to say."

Jon leant in slightly, pressing him. "And yet you really want to say." He smirked as he watched Sam's face. "You want to say that…"

Sam sighed as he looked to Jon nervously. "There was a raven. I read the message to Maester Aemon. It's your brother, Robb."

Jon straightened up in his seat. "What? What about him?"

"He's heading South. To war." Sam look flustered as he told Jon, he knew what his reaction would be. "All his bannermen have rallied to his side! They'll keep him safe." Jon shook his head. "I should be there. I should be with him."

He turned to face Sam. "Arabelle, is she with him?" Sam paused before Jon clenched a fist, almost hitting the table with it. "Is she with him?!" He repeated, his voice was firm but barely above a whisper.

"I don't know." Sam's cheeks were reddening as he looked at Jon, his stutter getting slightly worse.

Jon hit the table slightly as he rose. Of course she'd have ridden South. She would never have let Robb just leave her in Winterfell to wait for him, even if that meant dressing like a man and playing the part of sworn sword.

That night had been colder as he lay awake, eyes staring up at the ceiling as he thought of his family. Ghost lay next to him on his small bed, he mindlessly brushed his hands through the direwolf's fur as he imagined his father sitting in a prison cell; imagined Sansa locked in a tower and Arya alone. He'd not dared to think of the young wolf as dead. He thought of Bran and Rickon, now alone at Winterfell without their parents or their brothers and sisters to keep them company.

He thought of his brother, going to fight a war to get their sisters and father back. And he thought of Arabelle. The woman he'd loved. The woman that he loved who would rather fight than hide away and let the men go about their business. The woman that he loved who would ride South to save his father and his sisters.

The woman he loved, and the woman who would marry his brother.


	20. nineteen

**A/N: **Hello all! I'm back! I know, I know, it's been waaaaaay too long. Sorry guys - I get some pretty bad writers block, and I've basically been travelling the world for two years nonstop! I started writing this chapter seven months ago but only recently got around to finishing it on a very long flight. I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

"We can't hide Benefort involvement for much longer. Alyn will have taken less travelled roads, but with such large numbers and a vast number of spies we must expect that word will soon get to the Lannister's." The Greatjon leant over the table, slowly moving the wooden foxes closer to the wolves.

Doran ran a hand through his fiery hair. "We can still take advantage of that." He stood and pointed to the wooden lions. "Tywin will assume that as our numbers grow, so too does our confidence." He moved a smaller lion to the side. "The Kingslayer will break away from his father soon enough. Perhaps he will return to King's Landing now that Ned is imprisoned." He moved a wolf to the lion. "If we can get some degree of accurate information, we can send a small hunting party to take Jamie's men down, capturing him."

Robb rubbed his chin, his eyes meeting Doran's. "They have my sisters and my father; if we have Jaime, we have some hope of negotiating an exchange." He bowed his head at the fox in approval, having the Kingslayer as captive could blunt the impact of the war. "See to it that we have all channels open."

Doran smiled a smug smile at his friend as he straightened up. "I'll talk to our whisperer."

"We have a whisperer?" Robb's eyes widened. His father had never had a spymaster; he'd seen no honour in it. He'd not considered it when going to war either, his scouts were his eyes.

The Benefort lad smiled wryly. "Of sorts. Though Grandmother would simply call it listening."

The drapes of the tent blew around as Lady Catelyn stormed in, gloved hands clasped as she came to a stop, a hooded Arabelle not a step behind her. He allowed himself a brief smile as relief washed over him in waves. He stepped forwards his mother and his betrothed, though as he stepped forward Arabelle visibly tensed. He frowned as he looked to his mother, a grim expression on her face.

"Well then?" He asked.

Catelyn hesitated, looking to the ground before bringing her ice-cold gaze to her son. "Lord Walder has granted your crossing." "His men are yours as well. Less the four hundred who will remain here to hold the crossing against those who would pursue you."

The men in the room all exhaled with relief as she spoke, each of them eager to cross and make their way to the trident. "And what does he want in return?"

She paused before he spoke, slowly wringing her fingers. "You will take on his son, Oliver, as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood in good time."

"Fine, fine." He waved his hand. His mother still stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her with her eyes trained on the ground. He looked between his mother and Arabelle, raising an eyebrow.

"And?"

She sighed as she raised her eyes to meet her son's. "And Mathies Wyllsand, Ediline Reed and Arya will be married to his sons and daughters, Arya when she is of age."

Robb chuckled, an awkward chuckle considering the silence of the room. He smiled as he fondly thought of his youngest sister, the wild wolf. "She won't like that one bit."

Doran smiled, laughing slightly along with his friend. "The little wolf is more likely to bite a man's head off than marry him."

Still, Catelyn and Arabelle had not moved. He couldn't see Arabelle's face, though his eyes drifted to her hands and he noticed they were clenched. He looked to his mother, her face looking strained as she avoided his eyes. "And?"

"And…" She said, trying to choke out the sentence, her voice barely above a whisper. "When the fighting is done…" Without turning, she glanced to her side where Arabelle stood. "You will marry one of his daughters."

Robb watched his mother, his eyes widening as he struggled to process her words. He shook his head, pressing his hands firmly in to the table. "No." A smile of pure disbelief spread across his face as he kept shaking his head. "No, no." He pushed off of the table hard enough to shake it, bringing a hand to his chin and pacing slightly.

Catelyn swallowed hard as she watched her son pace. "If you want to cross the Twin's, Robb, you must accept his offer."

Doran scoffed and wiped his mouth, running a hand through his hair. "Bloody generous man, this Walder Frey, isn't he?"

Lady Stark's eyes were sad as they flickered to the Benefort heir. "He's never failed to exact his toll."

Robb stopped pacing, looking to his mother as he put his hands on his hips. "If I refuse?"

She swallowed again as she looked back to her son, certainty in her eyes. "We will not cross."

"I could take Robb's place." Doran stepped forward, standing tall as he looked between his sister and the Lady Stark. "My marriage agreement has been struck void. I'm the heir of a great house, just as he."

The older woman sighed, the smallest of smiles pulling at her lips as she admired the lad's courage. "No. Even if we had informed Lord Walder of the Benefort's allegiance, he wouldn't accept you."

Arabelle shifted where she stood as she clasped her hands behind her back. "He wants it to be Robb. If he is to risk so much for a man, he expects a handsome reward." She did not move her head, the hood still covering her face. Her tone was void of any emotion, though Doran knew better. He knew that when Arabelle was feeling something that she would oft shut down. When she showed nothing, she showed everything.

Robb grit his teeth as his eyes looked over the hooded woman, his hand balling in to a fist. "What of Arabelle?" His eyes flickered to his mother, a fire in them that made him look the part of a man leading an army rather than the boy Catelyn had left at Winterfell all that time ago.

Arabelle lifted her head slightly with only her mouth visible. "That is for my father to decide." She bowed, her cloak grazing the ground as she bent. "If you will excuse me, my Lords. My Lady." She nodded at the audience before spinning on her heels, leaving the tent and trudging her way through the mud.

* * *

The rain pelted down from the black sky, the fire from the torches in the camp had been put out long before as the men had scurried to move valuables inside the tents. Robb and Doran had stripped themselves of their Lord's armour, instead moving around the camp in more humble clothing. They'd heard stories their father had told them of war – of which there were not many. Both Alyn and Ned had eyes you could gaze into for seconds and know that they had seen far more than they'd ever be willing to discuss. Robb even doubted they'd talked of such things with their wives.

In their stories, the young Lord's would wander around the camp, conversing with soldiers who hadn't the faintest idea their leaders were walking among them. It was a way for them to gauge morale, let off some steam, and bond with the men united under their banners.

The two trudged through the mud, passing by already-drunk soldiers gathered around fires the rain had not yet claimed, and others who were still moving their belongings to shelter. As Robb looked around, he tried to distract himself from what had truly been plaguing his mind. He would have to make the decision soon.

"You love my sister." Doran broke the silence, biting into a lamb chop as they made their way through the camp. A statement, rather than a question.

Robb did not meet Doran's eyes, instead taking two tankards resting upon a crate nearby; he assumed the owners, who were passed out in puddles of their own vomit and urine, wouldn't notice their loss. He passed the other tankard to Doran as he took a swig of his own. "Was that a question?"

The Benefort heir smirked as he threw the almost-clean bone to the ground, taking his tankard and bumping it into Robb's, raising it in cheer. "No, it wasn't."

Robb ran a hand through his hair. The ale tasted off, which he credited to the rainwater. They walked in silence for a time more – not really having a specific destination. When they'd done this the few times before, they did it for the purpose of socialising with the troops. To get to know the men that were laying down their lives because of his father. Because of him.

"I don't have a choice." He spoke, guilt tugging at his heart.

Doran swigged his ale, his eyes meeting the ground as he attempted a curt nod. "I know."

The fire-headed lad finished his drink, throwing the tankard to the ground as they walked. "I lose her too." He sighed, rubbing the remnants of ale from his mouth with the back of his hand. "There are no other matches worthy of her North." Robb felt his chest tighten. He'd been so caught up in the fact he would not call her wife – he'd barely paid mind to the fact that she would not stay at the Nightfort. She wouldn't stay in the North, and she wouldn't be a few days ride.

"I won't let that happen." Robb swilled the last of his drink and threw the tankard to the ground, picking up his pace and leaving Doran behind.

He had to speak with her.

As he wove his way through the camp he had eyes for one thing – he ignored the cheerful soldiers drinking around him, ignored every person he had to push past to get to Arabelle's quarters.

He glared down the soldiers posted outside her tent; he could faintly hear their protests as they moved forward to stop him. He couldn't blame them – he was dressed differently, the rain had matted his hair. Though as he pushed the wet hair from his forehead, the soldiers recognised him. They had seen him before – one did not get the privilege of guarding a Lady's tent without knowing noble faces.

"My Lord." The guard on the left bowed – a lad with grey eyes and hair as black as the night sky. He recognised him, a newer guard than most who would be guarding a noble. "Lady Arabelle is not receiving anyone tonight."

Robb leant back, looking down at the shorter youth, his blue Tully eyes piercing in the dim light that escaped the tent. "I'm afraid it's an urgent matter that cannot wait until morning." He kept his tone diplomatic, though the look in his eyes was that of a determined man, one who wouldn't let two guards stop him.

"Apologies, my Lord, but I really must insist-"

"It's alright, Sir Egen." Arabelle's voice was only just loud enough to hear as she lifted the tent, a polite smile tugging at her lips. "Please, Lord Stark." She remained courteous, gesturing behind her as Sir Egen scrambled to take the tent from her hand, holding it as Robb followed her inside.

Arabelle was wearing her off-white linen shirt, navy pants and riding boots. It was how she usually dressed when she lounged, Robb knew. She dressed like a man, but looked not at all masculine. He liked, no, _loved,_ that about her. That she would go against their noble world had taught them. She'd become much more graceful than she was in her youth – almost as wild as little Arya, though now it seemed that she'd mellowed, she'd come to terms with who she was and what that meant for her future.

She poured him wine, placing it on the table in front of him as she poured her own. "I did not expect you to visit me, my Lord." Her tone was void of the love that had been in her voice last night.

Robb took the chalice and sipped, meeting her eyes as he placed it back down. "You did." He folded his arms and relaxed into the chair. "You never have wine in your tent so late in the night."

She brushed off his words, sipping on her own chalice as she sat down. "Tonight is a special occasion."

He leant forward, sighing. "Ari, I-"

"I know." She forced a sad smile. "It's okay."

Robb furrowed his brows. He'd expected her to be colder, or just _something_ other than this… understanding. Gods, but she was too kind.

"If I were in your shoes…. If it were my father… my brother… I would not hesitate." She scoffed slightly as she placed her chalice back down. "Hells, I wouldn't hesitate for your father, nor Sansa and Arya."

Robb leant forward; placing his hand over the one that Arabelle left freely resting on the table. "Ari…"

"I love you." She looked to their hands, tears welling up in her eyes. "But you have to cross the Twins." She wiped at the stray tears spilling down her cheeks with the back of her other hand. "Family, duty, honour."

"Those are Tully words." Robb sighed as he pushed himself out of his seat, kneeling in front of her and wiping some of her own tears with his hand. It broke his heart seeing her upset. He had no idea how he wasn't shedding as many tears.

"And you are a Tully. Just as much as I am a Wyllsand." The corners of her mouth quirked, though it was not really a smile. "Not Without Thorns."

He leant up, kissing her forehead. "I'll find a way around this. I promise."

Arabelle sighed. "It isn't wise to cross Walder Frey. He might be an awful old man living far beyond his time, but he is just as cunning as the Lannister's." She pushed some of his hair from his face, running a thumb along his cheekbone. "You don't need more enemies."

Robb took her hand from his face and kissed it. "No. But I need you."

Neither of them had said it, but they knew. If she married a Southerner, she'd be inspected before the wedding. Inspected for her purity. It could ruin her if her virtue was found not in tact, she could very well be exiled. All because of him.

"I love you, Ari. The Gods be damned, but no one is getting in the way of that."

She smiled faintly and leant down to kiss him, the saltiness of her tears on her lips. Robb ran a hand down her back and the other behind her legs, lifting her from the chair as he kissed her. Slowly, he walked her over to her bed, laying her down gently on the furs.

* * *

Arabelle knocked her arrow, quickly firing it straight into the throat of a Lannister soldier. "Doran!" She screamed, leaping down from her vantage point and slinging her bow around her chest, quickly drawing her slender sword as she sprinted through the battlefield to her brother. He'd been ripped from his horse and she saw him struggling, stuck in a circle of men. He'd taken down four of them already, but a few were sneaking up on him. She reached into her boot and gripped her dagger, launching it into the throat of a man behind her fiery-haired brother, jumping into the fray and stabbing her sword into the gut of another.

Doran lurched forward, clashing once, twice with the two swordsmen in front of him before kicking one back and slicing the other from shoulder to hip. Arabelle spun around, grabbing another by the throat and slashing her sword across it, dark blood spilling from his neck.

"Impeccable timing, sister."

She grimaced as she ducked a sword flying straight in her direction, leaping forward and burying her own sword in her attacker's neck.

Looking across the battlefield, she could see Rob on his horse, not far from him was the Greatjon. Her own horse was back where she had been perched with Theon, the two of them raining arrows down upon the Lannister men. "Shit." She hissed, grabbing her brother's hand. "We've got to move!" She screamed.

They'd have to run back, or find a horse whose owner had already fallen on the battlefield. "This wasn't the plan." Arabelle hissed as they sprinted through the men, ducking and slashing where they needed to.

Doran scoffed. "When does anything _ever_ go to plan?" He ducked and thrust his sword into the chest of a solider as he ran, pushing harder to catch up to his sister. Arabelle turned around, intending to look for her brother. But behind him, in the distance, she saw golden armour upon a grey mare. _Kingslayer._

"Doran, go get my horse." She nodded up to Theon further up the hill, just before the trees.

Doran looked at his sister as she lifted her bow from her chest. He shook his head. "Ari-"

"Now!" She hissed, sprinting off towards higher ground, sword still in hand, defending herself as she ran. She could see Robb, his eyes darting around the battlefield. There was no doubt in her mind he was looking for her. He would've noticed the twins were no longer mounted.

She paused as she perched herself upon a rocky ledge, sheathing her sword and nocking an arrow to her brow, following the golden knight as he moved around the battlefield. Arabelle drew her arm back, and as she caught the grey mare's head in sight, she released. Square between the eyes.

She shot two more, one to the mare's middle and front leg. The mare collapsed and the Kingslayer fell, though far more gracefully than she'd hoped. Robb and the Greatjon looked up from where the arrows came – it couldn't have been Theon. He was on the other side.

Robb looked up to see Arabelle with her bow in hand, and allowed himself a small smile of relief. Relief that she was safe, and relief that she'd made their mission a whole lot easier. He turned once more, riding off towards Jaime Lannister with a few guards and Lord Umber in toe.

Arabelle saw men climbing up towards her, taking that as her sign to leave. She slung her bow around her chest once more and sprinted back towards Theon, where her brother would no doubt have already taken her horse. She felt the tiredness of the muscles in her legs, but she pressed on, the adrenaline from the fighting forcing the pain she felt out of her mind.

"Nice shot, Benefort." Theon shouted as he fired off an arrow of his own, Arabelle sliding in beside him.

"I believe you mean _shots_, Greyjoy." She smirked, eyes widening as she looked down to the battlefield below. It'd taken her minutes to make her way back to Theon, and in those minutes the Kingslayer had been bound and slung over Arabelle's very own mare, Doran riding them hard back towards the trees as the rest of the North's men followed. Behind him rode Robb on his white stallion, brown curls slick with sweat and face dirtied and bruised from the fighting.

Theon slung his bow around his chest and grabbed Arabelle's arm, the two of them running back to the cover of the trees, where Theon's horse was awaiting. Theon pushed her up, swinging himself up behind her, the two falling into line as Doran rode past them. They galloped through the trees – they'd taken far too long, and lost far too many men to be lingering for too long.

Robb rode past, relieved to see Arabelle with Theon, before overtaking them and riding alongside Doran.

Two _thousand_ men they'd lost. Two thousand men they'd sacrificed to capture Jaime – to defeat his army and lay to rest the siege of Riverrun.

In what felt like seconds, they broke through the treeline to the hill where they were to meet Lady Catelyn and Ser Rodrik. Arabelle would be lying if she'd said she didn't think they would still be there. They had taken far too long in capturing the Kingslayer, and they were still rather close to where they had battled.

As they approached Robb pulled up first, dismounting as Doran rode up beside him, throwing Jaime from his horse before he dismounted himself.

"By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened." Robb spoke as he circled around his mother, eyes never leaving the Kingslayer. Doran had him kneeling with his knife at his throat, Greatjon Umber nearby with his sword drawn. Theon and Arabelle dismounted, Theon clasping his hands behind his back as he stood close to Doran.

"Lady Stark." Jaime smirked as he looked up. He was on his knees, hands bound and his hard dishevelled with sweat, dirt and blood. "I'd offer you my sword but I seem to have lost it."

Catelyn almost spat at him, the fury in her eyes almost burning into the Kingslayer's skin. "It is not your sword I want. Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband."

Jaime shrugged slightly. "I've lost them too, I'm afraid."

His eyes flicked up beside him, that smug shit-eating grin on his face. "Is that Doran Benefort with a knife to my throat?" The Kingslayer quipped. Arabelle huffed as she circled Jaime, coming beside Lady Catelyn. "And Lady Arabelle. A pleasure to make your acquaintance once more." He smirked.

Theon stood forward, his own sword drawn. "Kill him Robb. Send his head to his father!" He looked between the Kingslayer and the Lord Stark. "He cut down ten of our men. You saw him."

Arabelle glared at Theon. Killing him? After losing thousands to capture him? The Greyjoy heir had half the sense of a fish. Besides – she'd killed at least as many Lannister men. Would Lord Tywin have killed her for barely making a dent?

Robb glowered down at the Lannister. "He's more use to us alive than dead." Arabelle felt herself fill with relief – Robb was far smarter than Theon would give him credit for.

"Take him away and put him in irons." Catelyn nodded to the Kingslayer, locking eyes with Doran and the Greatjon.

"We could end this war right now, boy." Jamie hissed as he was pulled to his feet by the Benefort heir and Lord Umber. "Save thousands of lives." He gestured towards Robb and himself with his bound hands. "You fight for the Stark's, I fight for the Lannister's. Swords, lances, teeth, nails, choose your weapons. And let's end this here and now."

Robb thought for a moment, looking the man who'd attacked his father up and down. "If we do it your way, Kingslayer, you'd win." He glowered at him, his lips snarling as he went to speak. "We're not doing it your way."

The Greatjon chuckled to himself, pushing the Kingslayer towards Doran. "Come on, pretty man."

As Jamie Lannister was lead away, Theon stood forward, nodding his approval to Robb.

"I sent two thousand men to their graves today." He sighed as he looked down to his father's ward.

Theon's smile was smug. He must have thought they'd won the bloody war with the look on his face. "The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice."

"Aye." Robb nodded, his mother's eyes taking in her eldest son as he spoke. "But the dead won't hear them." Robb's eyes flickered to Arabelle, softening as he saw her. From the look he gave her, she must look far worse for wear than she'd thought.

The Lord Stark stood forward, looking around at all of his men gathered around the hill, looking to him for their orders.

"One victory does not make us conquerors." He raised his voice to a near-shout, his voice hoarse from all of the yelling he'd done on the field of battle. "Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees?" He sighed and ran a hand though his wet hair, pushing it from his face. He sighed, his voice slightly quieter. "This war is far from over."

* * *

LSU lovePurple liveGold, Lady Syndra, IrwinsBabygirl , ulyyte, Kate Whytey, SpawnOfSatan : Thank you! Here you go, sorry it took so long!

ATP: Oh believe me, the storyline will change. But it's more for the ~drama~, the fact that they're being separated adds a lot more to the story than the two being happy. Besides, what is Westeros without a whole lot of drama?

leticiacanastacio : Not abandoned! Just a looong time between updates - much like the seasons of the show :P thank you! Kisses from Switzerland :)


	21. twenty

**A/N: **This is it! Here we end season one. I haven't started writing the next season yet - I haven't a lot of free time as I'm currently working at a ski resort and I'm usually on the slopes all day, though when I do have time to focus on this story I'm going to be going back through and editing older chapters, merging them together (twenty one is far too many chapters for a ten episode per season show!). I'm hoping I'll have the first chapter of season two up in about a week or so, but if you want to get my attention please follow, favourite and review this story! The more notifications I get the more motivation I have to spend my time writing this for you all to enjoy :)

So, please enjoy! This chapter is rather fluffy :)

* * *

**twenty one**

* * *

The afternoon sun was warm on Arabelle's face – they'd just made camp for the night, having passed the Twins not days before and capturing Jaime Lannister. Lord Alyn Benefort was still yet to join them – though here they stood, Doran, Robb, Catelyn, Theon and the other Lords at the edge of the camp, ready to greet the Benefort armies.

Arabelle was dressed in her leathers. Catelyn had half-heartedly tried to convince her to wear a dress with the Benefort colours, but she'd insisted her father would want his daughter as she was and how he'd remembered her.

Now they were no longer betrothed, she could not stand close to Robb. Instead, Catelyn and Doran stood by his side, Arabelle wedged between Doran and Theon. She still could catch his eyes on her sometimes, stealing glances when he thought she wasn't looking. But she always saw.

A great black stallion first rose over the hill, behind it more horses followed, and eventually some navy banners splattered with orange foxes came into view. Arabelle felt her heart lighten, a grin tugging at her lips as she gripped her brother's hand. As they got closer, Arabelle could see the familiar wisps of grey hair on an almost balding head, the blue-grey eyes that had never failed to comfort her. As he dismounted, she couldn't resist herself, she sprinted straight towards him, jumping into his arms.

"My princess." He picked her up and spun her, kissing her hair as he gripped her tightly. Arabelle found herself unable to speak, tears spilling from her eyes and a lump in her throat as she gripped her father for dear life. _Gods_, she thought. _Have I not cried enough for one lifetime?_

Doran stood forward, the same grin on his face as his father's as they clasped hands and brought each other into a hug. "My son. Not causing too much trouble, I hope?" Alyn chuckled. "Not enough to worry you with, father." Doran smirked. He stood back from his father and fell in line behind him, the twins following their father as he moved to greet everyone else.

"Catelyn." He smiled sadly and took her hand, kissing it gently. "We'll get Ned and the girls back. I promise you."

Catelyn smiled sadly at her old friend. "Thank you, Alyn."

Alyn moved to Robb, nodding to the younger lad. "I trust you've been looking after my Belle?" He clasped a hand on the Stark heir's shoulder.

Robb exchanged an awkward glance with Arabelle, his eyes flickering to Alyn as he forced a quick smile. "I think Lady Arabelle has been looking after all of us, my Lord."

"Come, father." Doran clapped his father on the back. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

It'd been a long evening, and Arabelle had needed every second of sleep she'd had that night. They'd had to catch Alyn up on everything that had happened, including the dissipation of his daughter's betrothal. He'd been upset at first, but understanding. Ned was his brother, and he wanted him back as much as any of them.

The morning light streamed into the tent, and she awoke to find herself alone in Robb's bed, Grey Wind at her feet. It was unusual that she would stay for so long, let alone that _he_ would leave first. She pulled herself out of the fur covers, dressing herself quickly before exiting through the back of the tent with her cloak slung around her shoulders and hood drawn.

It was still early – not many men were moving around, so she quietly made her way back to her own tent. This would be the last time her quarters would be close to Robb's, soon she would be moving to the new Benefort encampment, staying close to her father and brother. She deftly stepped aside as a soldier clad in a dirtied apron emptied dirty dishwater close by, a small splash hitting her cloak.

As she entered her tent, she sighed with relief as she unclasped her cloak from her shoulders, throwing it across her bed. She lay down for only a moment before she heard mumbling outside, cursing slightly as the tent opened. She sat up quickly, only to roll her eyes as she saw her father.

"Couldn't wait a few hours?"

Alyn's face was stoic, in his hand a letter with the broken seal of House Baratheon. "No, Belle. It couldn't."

He handed her the letter and paced back and forth as she read, his behaviour causing her to raise an eyebrow. She hadn't seen him this distressed since Jon Arryn had died, when he'd been summoned to Winterfell to meet with the King.

Arabelle gasped, dropping the letter in her lap.

"…No… no, this can't be…" Her eyes shot up to her father, who's pacing had stopped.

He glowered at her. "I would not jest about such a thing."

She just shook her head in disbelief. "No. No Cersei would not let that happen, he's far too valuable a resource."

"Cersei is not the King." Alyn sighed.

"I…" She paused, wrapping her arms around her father's chest. Tears wettened his breastplate as she pressed her cheek to him. "I'm so sorry."

Alyn relaxed and returned the gesture, hugging his daughter tightly.

"What of the girls?" She asked, leaning back to look up at him. "Arya? Sansa? Are they alive?"

"They still have them."

Arabelle bit her lip. Her little wolf. And Sansa, the young lady. _Oh, Gods._

She broke away from her father and grabbed her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders and drawing her hood.

"Where are you going?" Her father asked her.

"To Robb."

"Belle…"

But it was too late. She marched out of the tent, straight back to Robb's, forcing the guards to tell him where he was. The last they'd seen, they said, he was walking towards the trees by the hill. Thin, dead trees, though just behind was a large oak.

She brushed her way through the camp that was crowding more by the minute; she barely noticed her surroundings as she pushed on, too focused on where she was going.

As she came to the trees, she saw Robb slumped by the Oak; a hand to his head as Lady Catelyn moved back towards the camp, dried streams of tears on her cheeks. As Arabelle approached, she pulled down her hood and Catelyn swept her up in a tight embrace. Here she could be Catelyn the grieving wife and mother, here out of the sight of the soldiers.

"I'll get the girls back." Arabelle grit her teeth as a warm tear fell from her eye. "I promise you, Aunt Cat. If it's the last damn thing I do, I'm getting them back."

Catelyn leant back and cupped Arabelle's face with both of her hands.

"I know."

Lady Stark pressed a kiss to Arabelle's head before stepping aside, looking over her shoulder at her eldest son. She nodded to the woman her son loved before making her way back to the camp.

Arabelle approached cautiously. She didn't know if he wanted company at all, let alone hers.

He moved his hand from his head and looked up at her, his face reddened and wet with tears. He stood as he saw her, though his expression didn't change. Arabelle didn't think she'd ever seen him like this. Not a week past, when he'd come to her tent. Not when Bran had fallen from that tower. Not when they'd hurt themselves playing as children. Her heart broke as she looked at him, and she rushed towards him, wrapping her arms around his middle.

He bent over and buried his head in her neck, his tears leaving it wet though that was the last thing she was thinking about. She leant back, cupping his face with her hands and wiping stray tears away. She stood on her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Robb pulled her back to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. He was armoured, and his breastplate was cool from the early morning cold as Arabelle's cheek was pressed to it. Behind him, she caught sight of his now blunted sword, and saw the tree had felt the brunt of Robb's grief.

"You've ruined your sword." Arabelle sighed as she gripped him tighter. Robb didn't respond, only holding the Benefort girl closer.

"I'll kill them all." He whispered after a few minutes of holding her. He swallowed back tears, as his hold on her grew tighter. Arabelle looked up at him, eyes sad. Though she loved Ned like a second father, she was still in disbelief. It didn't feel real, and she didn't think she could cry until she _knew_ for a fact that it was indeed very real. What hurt her the most was seeing Robb so distraught. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

"We'll get the girls. And then we will show _none_ of them mercy." She leant back and cupped his face once more. "You are not alone, Robb." She brushed some of his curls back, a thumb tracing his cheekbone. "I'm with you until the end."

Robb brought her back into his arms and kissed her hair. "I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

"The proper course is clear. Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his." An older bannerman to the Stark's paced in front of the long table where the leaders of the houses had decided to sup. They'd had to decide the next course of action now that things as escalated so suddenly in the south.

"Renly is not the king." Robb spoke, his legs swung over the bench to face the men.

Beside him sat Lord Alyn Benefort, and next to him was his only son and heir, Doran. Theon sat at the end of the bench, no doubt mildly insulted that Arabelle, a lady, was sat closer to Robb than he.

The bannerman's mouth gaped slightly. "You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my Lord. He put your father to death."

"That doesn't make Renly king." Robb glared over at the man at the mention of his father. He sighed and shook his head. "He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis."

"Do you mean to declare us to Stannis?"

Men yelled from around the benches, both in support of either of the late king's brothers. Alyn remained quiet, a finger to his lip as he looked around the men. Robb looked to him, who along with his mother, he considered his wisest advisors. Alyn made a gesture, as though he was going to talk, before Greatjon Umber rose from his seat.

"My lords." His gruff voice was loud as it sounded throughout the tables. "My lords!" As he captured everyone's attention, mouths stopped running.

"Here is what I'd say to these two kings."

He spat to his left, and Arabelle smirked slightly as she thought the slightest bit of spittle had hit Theon's boot.

"Renly Baratheon is _nothing_ to me. Nor Stannis, neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south?" He looked around at all the lords in front of him, purposefully with his back to the table that sat the Stark's and Benefort's.

"What do they know of the war? Of the wolfswood?" He continued. "And their Gods are wrong!" He earned the laughter of the crowd, a small smirk creeping onto his face.

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, and now the dragons are dead." The Greatjon drew his sword suddenly, earning shocked looks from the all seated. He pointed it to Robb.

"There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee to! The King in the North!"

Another bannerman stood, younger than the one that had tried to convince Robb to pledge himself to Renly. "I'll have peace on those terms."

"They can keep their red castle. And their iron chair too!" Another lord barked from the crowd, drawing his own sword. "The King in the North!" He shouted.

Theon stood up, looking at Robb from the end of the table. "Am I your brother, now and always?" He asked. Doran pushed himself out of his seat, standing just in front of Theon and raising his brow. "And I?"

Robb nodded to them. "Now and always, brothers."

Theon drew his sword and planted it into the ground, looking up at his warden's son. "My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, from this day, until my last day."

Doran nodded his sentiment, drawing his own sword as he locked eyes with Robb. "Aye. And mine."

Everyone's eyes flickered to Lord Alyn, the only other Lord of a great house there. He was older, far wiser and more experienced than most of the men gathered there. Known as a wise and patient man, his face was stoic as he stood, everyone waiting for him to say _something._

"Ned was my brother." He spoke, his eyes sad as they met with the young wolf's. "I loved him like I love my own blood. He paused and took his daughter's hand, running a gloved thumb over it gently before looking back to Robb. "And as far as I'm concerned, you, my Lord, are my blood." He drew his sword and planted it in the ground beside his son, looking up to the man he would pledge himself to. "The King in the North."

"The King in the North!" Everyone chanted repeatedly, drawing their own swords and kneeling to the man they'd declared King.

Arabelle locked eyes with Robb and drew her own sword, rising from beside her father. "The King in the North." Her voice was only just loud enough over the chanting for Robb to hear.

Robb looked out over all of his men, his eyes wide but brows furrowed. At least a hundred men were around him, on their knees and declaring him their king.

_Oh, Gods._

* * *

Jon galloped hard through the woods, Ghost not far behind him. There was a light fog drifting through the trees, though not enough that it dimmed his sight. The moonlight sifted through the tops of the tall trees, his heart beating faster the further he got from Castle Black.

He was deserting, he knew that. But more important to him was his family.

They'd killed him. Those Lannister bastards had killed his father and captured his sisters. His oldest brother was fighting a war in the south and his youngest brothers were alone in Winterfell. He had to do _something_. He couldn't just sit on his arse and fetch wine for Knight-Commander Mormont. He couldn't empty chamber pots while he knew he could be in the south, fighting alongside his brother.

He wondered if the Beneforts had yet joined the Starks – if Doran or Arabelle had fought.

_Gods,_ he thought. _Arabelle._

Heavy hooves sounded throughout the woods in the distance, and he knew almost instantly that it was not just his own horse. They'd followed him. Sam had no doubt gone straight to Grenn and Pip as he'd left, the three of them resorting to hunt him down before he branded himself a traitor. Ghost barked, and Jon looked over his shoulder, seeing two torches and three pale horses moving through the trees.

He urged his horse onward, to pick up the pace. He ducked his head under a branch as he rode hard. He _had_ to find his brother.

Only seconds later Jon heard a squeal that sounded much like that of a woman's, though he knew better. Jon slowed as he heard groans and moans, turning his horse around to look back at his pursuers. He sighed as he looked through the darkness. There was no doubt in his mind Sam had been thrown from his horse. Though Sam was widely hated among the brothers – he was fat, clumsy and cowardly – Jon had grown to love him like a brother, taking him under his wing and getting him through the training that all initiates had to complete.

He looked back over his shoulder. He admitted to himself, he didn't even know if his brother would accept his help or have him killed for desertion. He'd never heard of any men of the Night's Watch deserting and being pardoned.

But he so desperately wanted to be by his brother's side. To kill every last Lannister, to get his sister's back from the Queen.

He wanted to see Arabelle again. Just to see her bright blue eyes, her long mousy hair. Her cheeks and nose, always reddened by the cold. He just wanted to _see _her. In the months since they'd parted, he couldn't shake her from his mind. Did she still feel the same?

Jon turned back towards his brothers. He was a man of the Night's Watch. He had a duty, and he had to honour it. He said a quiet prayer over his shoulder, praying for a Northern victory and protection for the people he loved before kicking his horse and trotting back over to the men who'd risked their lives to bring him home.

* * *

"King in the North, eh?" Arabelle smirked as she folded her arms.

Robb spun around from where he sat, not having expected her presence so suddenly. Though, that was how they'd been seeing each other for the last few nights. She would sneak into his tent late at night, often waiting until the rotation of guards would change. It was the only time that they could spend together without raising the suspicions of the rest of camp.

Grey Wind perked up from the end of the bed, jumping off and nuzzling his head at Arabelle's thigh affectionately. The direwolf had taken to her well. He wouldn't let just _anyone_ come into his master's tent unannounced. Hell, he'd bitten the Greatjon's fingers off for less.

He sighed and reached for his wine, exhausted from the day they'd had. "Apparently so."

She removed her cloak and threw it over the trunk at the end of his bed, coming to sit across from him. "That was not how I expected this day to end."

He chuckled softly, leaning back into his chair lazily. "Nor I."

Arabelle moved a hand to his thigh, squeezing gently as her expression grew grim. "How are you feeling?"

He moved his free hand to rest on hers. "Better now that you're here." He smiled sweetly at her before grabbing her wrist, pulling her on to him.

She chuckled as she fell in his lap, straddling him. She took the wine from his hand and had a sip, licking her lips as she looked down at him. "I think perhaps you've had enough wine for one night, my love."

Robb leant in to kiss her, a smirk on his face. "Call me that again."

Arabelle grinned cheekily, sipping the wine once more. "My love."

His smile grew large as he kissed her gently. He couldn't explain it, though his heart felt that bit less heavy with every touch, every kiss she laid upon him. To hear her saying that she _loved_ him made his stomach flip, and the novelty of it would never wear off.

She leant back, cupping her hands on his cheeks. "Seriously though, Robb." Her expression grew sad again, her thumb brushing his cheekbone while another pushed his brown curls from his face. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He took the wine from her hand, sighing before he took a sip. "My father, the man we marched for, has been executed by the Lannister's." He placed the wine down and his hand ran up and down Arabelle's thigh. "I was Lord of Winterfell for all of twelve hours before my men declared me King in the North." He chuckled as he intertwined his hand with hers. "I suppose I'm doing just as well as any man would in my stead."

She leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss above his brow, a cold hand grazing his neck. "You're doing far better than most men would."

Robb groaned as he ran his other hand up the back of her shirt, resting on the small of her back. "This day has been far too long."

Arabelle smiled softly, bringing her hands down to her love's chest, unstrapping his jerkin. "You're filthy." She glanced over at the makeshift bath that sat close to the small fire. "Let's get you cleaned up and into bed."

He complied, leaning forward and pulling his arms out of the leathers. He was far too tired to argue, to insist he could look after himself. Arabelle pulled off his linen undershirt and gathered his leather tunic, pushing herself off of him and laying them beside the trunk at the end of his bed.

"I believe you can take care of your pants." She smirked.

And he could do that much, at least.

Once he disrobed he slowly lowered himself into the warm water, lying back as Arabelle grabbed soap, placing it on a small bench that sat beside the bath.

She peeled her undershirt from her skin and pulled off her boots, pants following. As she went to remove her smallclothes he reached out a hand to her. He didn't want her to feel like she had to sleep with him that night. That she had to be naked for him to want to be with her.

She understood that, taking his hand and shaking her head, kissing it softly. She unbound her breast and removed her smallclothes, lowering herself into the tub opposite him.

"Ari…"

She grabbed the soap from the bench and brought it under the water, shaking her head at him.

"Stop, Robb." She sighed, pulling the soap out of the water and lathering it in her hands. "Just stop."

Arabelle moved forward, gesturing for him to present his head to her. He lowered his head, and she moved her lathered hands into his hair, gently massaging the soap into his scalp. Once she'd covered his head, she scooped water into her hands and washed the suds out of his wet curls, the dirt coming clean off.

He let her wash his face, his chest. He'd even washed her hair for her before spinning her around and pulling her to him. Her head rested on his shoulder, his chin to her temple. He placed a small kiss to her brow as he held her close. _This_ is what he wanted. Just to hold her. Naked or not, all he needed after the long day that he had was the warmth of her body next to his.

After lying there for a while, he hadn't realised he'd started to dose. He'd woken up to Arabelle wrapped in a towel, offering one to him. She'd laid out clean clothes for him on his bed as she helped herself and changed into one of his clean shirts.

He couldn't help glancing at her as she changed; every time she raised her arms her shirt would lift and show the curve of her backside. She looked over at him, mockingly scowling as she caught him watching her. "You should worry about clothing yourself." She smirked. Robb chuckled, pulling on his pants and shirt and sliding into his bed, waiting for Arabelle to put out the candles and join him.

As the tent grew dark, she crawled into bed with him, letting him pull her close to him. His stubbled jaw grazed the top of her head, one arm acting as her pillow and the other firmly wrapped around her waist.

_What have I done to deserve her?_

* * *

SpawnOfSatan: Lots of drama! And now that the Benefort's have joined with the Stark's, a whooole lot is about to go down. And believe me, Arabelle/Jon is not over yet. She hasn't forgotten him, more she's trying her hardest to forget that she can never be with her first love. And now she's found love with his brother! So much more to come, thanks for reading :)


	22. twenty one

**A/N:** Here's another one! And in just one chapter, I'm already halfway through season 2! The Northern armies have a much less prominent role in season 2 than in season 1, but I'm definitely going to be adding some filler stuff for you guys. There's a LOT more Doran in this chapter, and I'm really stoked because I really love his character and I hope you guys like him too. Enjoy :)

* * *

**twenty one**

* * *

"Four kings fighting for a throne." Arabelle scoffed as she poured herself tea. "If you had have told me this would happen last year, I'd have laughed in your face."

Doran smiled as he took the cup his sister had poured. "I don't think anyone saw this coming, sister."

She clucked her tongue. "Everything changed the _second_ Jon Arryn died."

"We can't change the past."

Arabelle sighed as she sat down. "I don't seek to, brother. I'm just still coming to terms with all that has happened."

Doran tested the warmth of his tea before deeming it too hot, placing it down on the table in front of him. "You saw Robb tonight. Everything he told that Lannister boy. Demanding they return the girls. Ned's remains and those of his men returned so that they can be put to rest." He leant back in his chair and wove his fingers together behind his head. "That the North be recognised as independent. That the south would be littered with Lannister dead should those terms not be met. We're in the middle of it. And we haven't exactly _had_ the time to come to terms with any of it."

He sighed as he looked his sister in the eye. "You know the Lannister's will reject the terms."

Arabelle nodded as she sipped her tea. "Robb completely expects them to." She placed her cup down and lifted her foot to rest on her thigh. "He's going to ask Theon to go to the Iron Islands, to negotiate with his father."

Doran raised his eyebrows and leant forward. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea. He's not exactly a trustworthy man. Hells, our father fought a rebellion he started not ten years past."

She shrugged. "He needs a fleet to take King's Landing." She smirked at her brother. "And I'm not so sure Lord Stannis would be so eager to lend him his ships."

"_King_ Stannis." He corrected her.

"Apologies. It seems there are far too many kings for me to keep track of these days."

They sat in silence for a few moments, each blowing on their tea to cool it down and taking small sips, careful not to burn their tongues.

Doran looked over at her, brows furrowed as she held her tea in both hands. "Why do you know everything Robb is planning?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Excuse me?"

Doran shrugged, not meeting her eye. "You seem to have his utmost confidence."

Arabelle scowled at him. "So do you, Doran."

He shook his head. "No. I don't." He leant forward and made sure to lock eyes with his sister, his usual cheeky grin or smiling eyes nowhere to be seen. "He's a brother to me, but even I don't know everything." Doran sighed as he raised the cup to his mouth. "Be careful, Ari. He's a King now. And, he's betrothed to a Frey."

She furrowed her brows and leant back in her chair, crossing her arms. "He doesn't even know the name of the girl he's to marry."

"That doesn't mean he isn't going to marry her." Doran reminded her. "You're smarter than this." He finished his tea and stood, picking up his coat from the back of his chair. "I'll see you in the morning. Rest well."

Arabelle stood and followed him out, nodding at him with a barely concealed scowl as he left. "And you."

She sat down on her bed and put her hands to her lips. Doran knew. Of course he did. Was she not hiding it well enough? Or did he just know her far better than she thought? He was her twin, after all. She groaned as she fell back onto her bed, eyes staring up at her tent. A year ago she'd just returned to the Nightfort from a trip to Winterfell; Jon Arryn was alive, King Robert was in the capital. She was in love with another.

_Oh, gods. Jon._

It'd been eight moons since she'd seen him. And it had taken her four of those moons to push him from her mind. It was the only way she could cope in Winterfell without him. Though, with so much that had happened since, she'd be lying if she'd said it wasn't hard to distract herself from her quarrels of the heart.

She wondered if he still thought about her. If he was well – would he be a ranger by now? He was with his Uncle Benjen. Surely he'd be faring fine.

She wondered if she'd ever see him again. What would she say? Or, more importantly, what would he?

The flap at the back of her tent opened, and in the silhouette the dim candles of her tent provided, she could see her King. She snapped herself out of her thoughts and smiled as she propped herself up onto her elbows. "I thought I was coming to you tonight?"

He smiled as he walked over to her, dressed only in his leathers. They were far enough south now that they could get away without their coats for the night. "I couldn't wait." He leant over her on the bed, lowering himself to press his lips to hers gently before pushing himself up, looking over to the pot of tea still warm on her table.

"You talked to Theon?" She asked as she watched him pour himself tea.

"I have." He leant against one of the bannister's that held her tent up. "He has agreed to be our envoy."

Arabelle sat up to look at him properly. "And your mother?"

"She advised against it." He sipped his tea and walked back over to her, passing her the cup as he knelt down, placing his hands on her knees. "And she agreed to be our envoy to Renly. She will leave at first light."

Arabelle raised her eyebrows, impressed. "It seems everything is falling into place for you, your grace."

He tapped his fingers along her knees and sighed as he lowered his head. "Not everything."

Arabelle furrowed her brows once more and leant over to the table by her bedside, placing her tea down before placing her hand on Robb's face, lifting him so that he had to look at her. She shook her head and leant down, placing a kiss on his lips.

"Just pray your luck doesn't run out." She smiled.

She managed to goad a smile out of him. He pushed himself up from the ground, kissing her head. "You are my luck, love."

"I'm not so sure that's true."

Robb sighed as he unstrapped his tunic, walking around by the chair and tables. "I'm surprised you and Doran weren't drinking wine." He pulled the tunic from his arms and rest it upon the back of the chair. "Usually when you're with him at night you end up drunk."

Arabelle smiled as she widened her eyes at him. "That is not true."

"Not four nights ago you almost fell into the back of my tent trying to sneak in." He chuckled as he walked back over to her. "You almost got caught."

Robb leant down, his nose brushing against hers as she looked up at him from under her thick lashes. "Did I?"

He smiled and nuzzled her nose with his. "Mmhmm."

She placed a hand over her mouth and leant back, shrugging as she flashed a cheeky smile. "If I'm given wine, I'm going to drink it."

Robb smirked as he pushed her hand away and kissed her. "That's my girl."

He grazed his lips along her cheek, gently pressing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She furrowed her brows as he did so. Doran's words had worried her. She was sure they weren't being too obvious. Doran knew her better than she knew herself – she couldn't hide anything from him.

"Robb…"

He raised his head, looking her in the eye with a concerned look in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Arabelle smiled and cupped his cheek with her hand. "Yeah. Yes, sorry. I'm fine." Robb lifted his hand and placed it over hers on his cheek, rubbing the side of her hand gently with his thumb. "You know I love you, right?" She asked.

He nodded, taking her hand and pressing a soft kiss to it. "And I love you. More than anything."

* * *

The weeks passed slowly after Theon and Catelyn left on their mission as envoys to the King in the North. Robb sent Ser Rodrik Cassel back to Winterfell in his mother's place, to care for his younger brothers who'd been alone there for months. The North's armies would win small victories in the field against the Lannister's.

Arabelle would spend most nights with Robb – others, she was drinking with her father and brother. Some nights with the other Lords of the Benefort's banners, and other nights even Robb would join them.

Lord Alyn was Robb's most trusted advisor now that his mother had left. He had the political mind of his mother and the honour of his father – though the Greatjon was immeasurably loyal, he was rather thick and far too eager to unsheathe his sword. Robb counted his blessings for his Uncle Alyn – without him, he wasn't sure he'd have lasted one moon after being proclaimed King in the North.

Robb sighed as he rested his head in his hand. He was hunched over yet another map, devising yet another strategy. He'd been through it with the majority of his Lord's, even Doran had helped.

The Battle of the Whispering Wood had been an instrumental victory. Though, Robb wasn't sure it was something his father would have done. What was honourable about sending two thousand men to their deaths against Lord Tywin's thirty thousand? They lifted the siege Riverrun, and though Robb simply could not imagine any other outcome that could have them reign victorious.

He'd idolised his father as a child. Wearing his armour and shoes, running around with Jon and Theon with their wooden swords, pretending to be young Ned's, Alyn's and King Robert's.

Now he wasn't sure he wanted to be the kind of ruler his father would have been.

Though he had a deep respect for his father's honour, his Lady mother and Arabelle had shown him the utility in more deceptive tactics, in taking riskier chances than he ever would have without their encouragement. _Women, if anything, are resourceful_. He'd heard his Uncle Benjen say that once. Women didn't fight with swords. Their weapon was poison.

Except for Arabelle.

The Battle of Whispering Wood hadn't been so long ago, a moon or two perhaps. And still, clear as day, he remembered seeing Arabelle fight ferociously, fiercer than most of the men under his command. He remembered seeing the Kingslayer's horse fall from under him, turning around only to see familiar green eyes looking back at him, brown braided hair blowing in the wind.

He shook himself back to where he was, twirling a small wooden carving of a wolf between the fingers of his free hand.

Oxcross. There were many Lannister encampments there. They could attack at night, under the cover of the darkness. Most of the soldiers would be drunk or asleep, it'd be far easier to take them on considering they still outnumbered the Northern armies.

"Oxcross. Interesting." Doran smirked as he strode into the tent. "I hope you don't mind, I told your guards you were expecting me."

Robb rubbed the bridge of his nose and waved for Doran to sit down at the table with him. "Perhaps you could provide a second opinion."

"What are you thinking?" The fiery-headed lad asked.

Robb cleared his throat and leant forward, placing a wooden wolf and a wooden fox around one lion piece. "We take them at night. Most men would be drunk or asleep. The only way we can win against them is if we take them by surprise."

Doran raised a finger to his lip and tapped it as he leant forward. "I see." He took a flayed man and a sunburst carving, placing them beside both the wolf and the fox. "Six thousand men _prepared_ men against ten thousand camped for the night."

"Precisely what I was thinking." Robb agreed.

Doran smirked and nodded at his friend as he leant back in his chair. "Present it to father in the morning. I'm sure he'll want to do some… fine-tuning, if you will."

They sat in silence for a time, both looking at the map intently before Robb stood, moving over to the ale he'd moved to his bedside to make room for the maps and carvings. He passed a tankard to Doran, the Benefort heir accepting it and taking a swig as Robb sat back down.

"You know Margaery Tyrell is married to Renly?" Doran smirked over at his friend.

Robb nodded as he sipped his ale. "I've heard."

"Did you also know that she was the woman my father was seeking to match me with?"

Robb raised his eyebrows as he placed his tankard down. "I did not. Though, I had my suspicions."

Doran chuckled half-heartedly. "There are far more sons of great houses than daughters."

"Yes, well." Robb leant back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "I doubt your father has had much time to negotiate a new match for you, given recent events."

Doran took a large sip of his own tankard before resting it on his lap. "There's Theon's sister, Yara Greyjoy." He chuckled as he looked over at Robb. "I don't expect Lord Balon to be so eager." Robb smirked. _No, he wouldn't._

"Myrcella Baraethon." He sighed. "She's just a child." Doran flashed another coy smile. "And, given current circumstances.

Robb nodded. _Considering we're at war with her family._

"There's Arianne Martell." Doran nursed his drink in his hands.

Robb leant forward and took his tankard, taking a swig of his ale. "I've heard she's very beautiful."

Doran smirked. "I'd rather a woman with some substance, not another pretty face." He sighed as he took a rather large gulp. "It seems as though the rulers of the Nightlands will have to settle."

He was silent for a time before his eyes, so full of mischief, looked over at his old friend. "Perhaps a Frey girl?"

Robb felt himself stiffen. "…Doran.."

"There aren't many other options." Doran reminded him.

Robb swallowed as he looked at his friend. "I know." He sighed as he placed his tankard down and stood, rubbing his jaw as he paced across his tent. "Walder is determined it be me."

"I know." Doran was unusually stoic. He perked up as Robb stopped pacing. "Doesn't mean we can't try. Besides." Doran smirked and raised his tankard in mocking-cheers. "I've heard one of them isn't too hard on the eyes."

"I thought you wanted a woman with substance." The corner of Robb's mouth quirked.

Doran chuckled as he took another sip of ale. "I'm not sure there is a Frey girl with any substance." He placed the tankard down. "So I'll take the pretty face."

Robb laughed and brushed his curls behind his ear. Doran was honourable, though not so good at being serious. He was a jokester, and he was damn good at making people laugh.

"All these King's about, I'm not sure anyone wants to marry me now." Doran smirked as he rose. "I'm off to bed. You should rest too, you're not going to accomplish a whole lot of planning when you've had three hours rest and six tankards of ale."

"Five." Robb rolled his eyes with a smile on his face as Doran went to leave.

Doran didn't turn as he smiled, waving his friend off with a hand behind his back. "If that makes you feel better."

* * *

The first light of the morning began to filter through the field around her. Clutching her side, Arabelle swung her bow back over her chest, observing the field around her. The majority of the dead appeared to be Lannister men, as predicted, the North had won a major victory.

She could see her brother walking with Robb, both splattered with blood that wasn't their own and faces dirtied. Doran now wore armour that bore the sigil of his house after the Benefort's had joined with the Northern armies.

They'd fought under cover of night, taking the Lannister armies by surprise. It had been raining the whole night, and still Arabelle's hair was not dry. Her braids stuck to her armour, which was much lighter than the other soldier's. She was smaller and, sure, not as strong as the men, though she needed the mobility. Her speed was her strength.

Lord Alyn Benefort had not fought that day – instead, he'd remained with the bulk of the force. They'd taken only six thousand men of their twenty four thousand strong army. It was a risk, but even Lord Alyn could agree that if they'd pull off this attack, it'd be another decisive Stark victory in the war.

Arabelle hissed as she peeled her fingers from her wound. It wasn't deep, it might need a stitch or two and some ointment, but that was in the worst case. She'd been stupid, she'd lost concentration for but a second and a young Lannister soldier, she guess probably no older than her, struck her side. She'd managed to dodge the brunt of the hit, but still, his sword had cut her through the chainmail at her side. She'd been watching Robb, worried for his safety. And it only took a second for her to pay for it.

It was stupid now, thinking about it. He was a good soldier. A better warrior than she'd though, almost as good with a sword as her brother. He'd make a good general, she thought. Tactics without the politics.

"Are you wounded?" Arabelle heard a woman ask from behind her.

She turned and smiled briefly at the woman, dressed in blue robes. "Just a scrape."

The woman nodded and reached into the bag slung over her shoulder, taking out some cloth. She offered it to Arabelle. "Hold this firmly over it."

Arabelle sighed and took it, thanking the woman as she pressed it to her wound.

"Forgive me, but it is not often you see a woman on the field of battle." The woman spoke as she moved to walk past Arabelle, gesturing for her to follow.

Arabelle conceded, following the woman. "My mother would surely murder me if she knew I were here." She smirked as she thought of her mother. She'd so desperately wanted her daughter to be a little lady, much like Sansa.

"That's something that we have in common." The woman smiled as they walked through the corpses.

"Is that a Volantene accent?" Arabelle asked.

"It is. Not many are able to place it."

"My grandmother's handmaiden is from Volantis." The Benefort girl smiled fondly at her memories of staying with the Wyllsands. "You're a long way from home." She added.

The Volantene woman smirked up at her with her brown eyes. "Aren't we all?" She stopped and offered her hand. "I'm Talisa."

"Arabelle."

"Ari!" Doran yelled, jogging over to his sister. "We've been looking for you."

Arabelle sighed as she pressed the cloth more firmly into her side. "I'm fine, Doran."

"Arabelle Benefort?" Talisa asked.

"Yes."

Talisa looked a mixture of disappointed and surprised as she curtsied slightly. "A pleasure to meet you."

"And you, Talisa of Volantis." Arabelle smiled before waving a small goodbye, allowing her brother to put his arm on the small of her back and guide her away.

"You're hurt."

"It's a cut, Doran. I'm fine."

He clucked his tongue as he walked beside her. "You should go to the medics."

Arabelle rolled her eyes at her brother as she peeled away the cloth, seeing that most of the bleeding had stopped. "There are people hurt far worse than I, it is they who need the help."

"Ari…"

"I'm fine." She cut him off. "Actually, I'm going to help the medics and the Silent Sisters." She looked back over to Talisa, taking a bone saw from her bag as she crouched over a Lannister soldier. "Gods know they have their work cut out for them."

Doran scoffed. "Are you serious?" He shook his head at his sister. "You don't have to help them."

Arabelle looked up at him with widened eyes. "Why? Because I'm a noble?" She tutted him. "The second we think ourselves too noble for a task is the second we lose ourselves." A motto their father had raised them with. She could practically hear her brother's internal groan as she walked away.

She cursed herself. Every time she was hurt she became cold to everyone who loved her, who wanted to know she was okay. She'd push them away. And even though she knew she was doing, she could never stop herself.

"Talisa." She called out the Volantene healer's name as she approached. "Tell me how I can help."

Talisa looked bewildered, knowing now that Arabelle was a noble. Though she quickly snapped herself out of it, nodding to the man's leg. "Hold him still."

"No… no please!" The soldier cried.

"The only way you will survive is if we amputate your leg. I'm sorry."

Arabelle complied, holding both above and below the sickening wound to stabilise the man. She nodded to Talisa as the woman brought her sterilised bone saw to his leg, putting a rag in the man's mouth as she began to saw away.

Blood spurted onto both of them, some hitting Arabelle's face, though she didn't flinch. She'd seen some gruesome things, and this certainly had to be up there.

If she were honest, she'd probably have been a healer in another life. A life where she wasn't the only daughter of Lord Alyn Benefort. She'd loved her medical books when she was being schooled by her Septa – even the book she'd read so long ago, after Bran had fallen from the tower.

As Talisa made the final cut, she poured alcohol over the man's leg and pressed clean cloths to it firmly, up to her elbows in blood by now. She bandaged the wound as best she could and asked Arabelle to flag a cart that carried the wounded down.

"I didn't expect to see a noble woman on the field today." Talisa noted as she wiped the blood from her arms. "Healing _or_ fighting."

Arabelle smiled slightly as she took a cloth from Talisa, wiping her face and hands of the blood that stained them. "I suppose I'm not like most noble women."

Talisa smiled. "I suppose not." Her eyes flickered to behind Arabelle, clearly noting someone's approach. "Thank you for your help." She nodded her thanks as she moved off, walking past Arabelle to find more wounded.

"Lady Arabelle."

Arabelle turned around to see her love, her King.

"Your grace." She smiled and curtsied. They had to put on a show, in case anyone was watching. Or listening.

His eyes flickered to the red that stained her otherwise silver chainmail. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm quite alright, your grace." She looked down and inspected the wound briefly. "Just a flesh wound."

"You fought bravely."

"And you, your grace."

Robb's eyes flickered around as he checked for anyone within listening-range.

"Let me take you to the medics back at camp. You need to dress that wound."

Arabelle frowned before sighing. She'd not make the same mistake she just had with Doran. "A private healer in my quarters."

Robb nodded, a small smile on his face, no doubt at the relief he felt that she hadn't argued with him. "I'll arrange it." They began the walk to the fringes of the battlefields, where the horses awaited to take the Lord's back to camp. "Your father won't even know."

Arabelle knew that if her father found out she'd been hurt, he'd watch her like a hawk the next time she was on the field. _If_ he'd let her fight again, that is. It was a miracle he let both of his daughter fight in the first place.

"Thank you." She smiled at him.

They walked in silence for a few moments before she looked up at him, a small smirk playing at her cheeks. "You did promise Cersei another Whispering Wood. And it seems you delivered."

"This isn't a victory."

"But it _is_, Robb." She sighed and shook her head. "I understand your hesitance to admit that we're actually winning this war. You feel like the second you do, we'll lose everything." She clapped a hand on his shoulder as they walked, mindful that it must look friendly. "It takes a lot of small victories to win a war. Don't forget that."

Robb sighed as they approached the horses, clicking his fingers and whistling at his squire to bring their horses. "We'll talk more later."

Doran was already mounted, riding up to his sister and friend with a small smile on her face. "Ready?"

"Ready."

* * *

**R.A.:** I see where you're coming from. Honestly, I feel like the main thing with Arabelle concerning Jon, is that the easiest way for her to 'get over him' has been to throw herself into her relationship with Robb. And love, fortunately for her, has grown from their friendship. You've got to keep in mind - Arabelle thought (or thinks) that after Jon took the black, she would never see him again. And she would have to move on and marry another - so she's made herself do just that. Her relationship with Jon will of course never go back to what it was, given that she's been with his brother. Regardless, I hope you enjoy my story!

**cew1088:** Thank you! I'm pretty torn between the two pairings myself - I love both men and what they bring out in Ari. I haven't actually given a whole lot of thought to it, but to me she looks like Abigail Halliday, though with brown hair and green eyes :)

**Spawn Of Satan:** Thank you! Your reviews are always so kind, and I'm so glad you enjoy my story! I'm so glad you like Doran - I absolutely LOVE him and he's so much fun to write because he's a lot more light-hearted than the other characters are. You'll be getting to know Alyn better in the coming chapters, you can be sure of that. I hope you enjoyed this start to season two!

**ElriyaStark: **Please don't cry! Aw, thank you so much for your reviews though, I'm glad you're enjoying it! And I hope you liked this chapter :)


	23. twenty two

**A/N:** Have another one! This chapter is slightly shorter than usual, and the scenes are also shorter but there are a few more of them. I hope you all enjoy :)

* * *

**twenty two**

* * *

Jon crouched low behind a rock close to camp, the wildling's they'd been hunting just before them, grooming their weapons by a fire. Qhorin gave the signal, and a stray arrow struck a wildling straight through the heart. In seconds, they'd slaughtered them, and Jon chased down the last one, pinning her against a rock. He raised his sword, though as the wildling looked up he realised. She was a woman. He lowered her hood and revealed hair like flames. He'd only seen such colouring on Doran Benefort. He looked her in the eyes, brows furrowed. He couldn't kill a woman.

"A girl."

Qhorin sheathed his sword as he circled Jon, eyes on the woman. "A wildling."

"We could question her." Jon suggested

"You could." Qhorin half-heartedly chuckled as he crouched over, searching the body of another wildling. "She won't answer. I've known a wildling to bite off his own tongue instead of talkin'."

Jon frowned as he pressed harder on her chest. "What's your name?"

Her large blue eyes flickered around each of the brother's, trying to read their movements. "Ygritte."

Qhorin rose and walked around the other side of Jon, picking up an axe that rested by the rock he had Ygritte pressed against. "She was reaching for this axe when you got to her." He chuckled as he tested it's weight. "Give her half a chance she'll bury it in your face."

Her eyes were wide and never left Jon's as she looked up at him. "I gave you my name."

"I'm Jon Snow."

Her eyes looked to her dead comrades. "You ought to burn them you killed."

"We need a big fire for that." Qhorin moved closer to the wildling woman. "Tell me, Ygritte." He smirked and allowed himself a breathy chuckle. "Why should I build a big fire? You got some more friends in the area?"

Her expression grew more determined than frightened. "Burn them. Or maybe you'll need those swords again."

Qhorin clapped Jon n the back. "Our boy here has already killed one dead man. He can do it again if he has to." He nodded to the pass that lay leagues from them. "What waits beyond the pass?"

"The free folk."

"How many?"

She smirked at him. "Hundreds and thousands. More than you've ever seen, crow."

"Why come to the mountains? What's in the Frostfangs your King could want?" Qhorin asked. He got closer as she wouldn't answer. "Do you mean to march on the wall?"

He sighed and looked down at her. "Do you know who I am, girl?"

She nodded. "Qhorin Half-hand."

"Tell me true. If your people captured me, would they take me prisoner?"

She looked him in the eyes, an anger in them Jon hadn't seen the likes of in a long time. "They'd take your head off your shoulders if they was feeling kind. If not, they'd kill you slow."

Qhorin pushed himself back up from the rock and paced where her stood. "We have no food for her. Can't spare a man to watch her." He sighed and half-shrugged. "Can't let her go, she'll bring Mance Rayder's army down on us." He drew his sword, lowering it slightly. "It needs to be done, I'll do it-"

"No." Jon called out. Qhorin looked at him with wide eyes. "No, I'll do it."

Qhorin relented, sheathing his sword. "Come, brothers." He looked Jon up and down as he still had Ygritte pinned to the rock. "We'll leave him to it. We'll meet you at the top, don't take too long. We're deep in their country now."

Ygritte waited until his brother's were out of ear shot before she smiled coyly up at him. "You never killed a woman before, did ya?" She shook her head. "You don't need to do it. Mance would take you, I know he would. There's secret ways, the crows would never catch us-"

Jon pressed his sword to her throat. "I'm as much a crow as they are."

Ygritte squinted at him slightly before sighing. "Will you burn me, after?"

Jon shook his head. "Can't. Someone might see the smoke."

She turned over, presenting her head to the edge of the rock. "Strike hard and true, Jon Snow." He could see the smirk play across her face even though she was turned away from him. "Or I'll come back and haunt ya."

He lowered his sword, pressing it to the back of her neck. "That's cold."

He didn't want to kill her. There was no honour in killing a woman, which was something his father had taught him from when he'd only been a pup himself. Though, he had begun to question it. She was a wildling – she knew how to fight. Like Qhorin had said, she'd tried to reach for her axe. Maybe all wildling women fought? It was incredibly rare to see a woman on the battlefield in Westeros.

Jon froze as he thought of Arabelle. He'd not thought of her for a few moons now. Would she be fighting? He knew she'd marched south with Robb. What if, way down south, some bastard had he pressed up to a rock? What if he didn't hesitate?

"Go on. Be quick about it." Ygritte interrupted his thoughts. He still looked down at her, imagining if this woman had loved ones to go back to.

"Do it." She hissed. "Bastard, do it."

Jon shouted as he swung his sword up and brought it down hard, panting as the metal hit the rock.

Ygritte looked at the sword before her face, eyes wide as she looked over at Jon.

She took her chance, grabbing a rock she'd been eyeing off and hitting him in the knee, sprinting away as Jon keeled over.

He gave chase, albeit with a sore knee. She kept to lower ground, so he decided to stay higher. He'd have more control that way, he hoped.

In what felt like seconds but was more like minutes, he'd run after her through the valley, the fresh snow crunching under his feet. They were in her land, and that was a critical advantage that she held over him.

He came to be above her, sliding down a small hill and tackling her to the ground, pulling a knife to her throat.

"You can't do it." She spat. "We both know it." He spun her over and looked her in the eyes. She smiled at him tauntingly. "The sun's going down Jon Snow, and your friends are nowhere close."

"I'll find them." He said, determined.

She smirked. "Call for them. Go on. Call loudly."

Jon looked around him. She was right. He was stranded, and from what Qhorin had said earlier, the wildlings hunt at was a fairly good chance this Ygritte would be found by her kin, and he'd be slaughtered like a dog.

_Shit._

* * *

Robb dismounted from his horse, a smile on his face as he looked around at his men as they displayed their plunder from Oxcross. Lannister banners, helmets and swords abound. He shook hands with a few of them as he walked past. He was proud of his soldiers, and proud of the relationship that he had with them. He didn't want to be a stranger who told them to lay down their lives for him.

Across the camp he spied a woman in a blue dress, dark hair flowing freely. Beside her sat another woman, dressed in light leather armour, some plate and chains across her chest. Her hair had the unruly curliness that braids often-left hair with, and Robb found himself smiling as he looked at her.

She'd surprisingly kept her complaints to herself when he'd sent a healer to her quarters, her wound was apparently healing well considering it had only been days since the battle. Robb had not seen much of her since – he only had more meetings, more strategies to plan, and she'd been spending a peculiar amount of time by herself. Though, it seemed now that she wasn't truly by herself.

"Lady Arabelle." Robb smiled as he approached.

Arabelle stood, a warm smile on her face. "Your Grace." The woman that sat beside her stood, too, and Arabelle gestured a hand towards her. "May I introduce Lady Talisa Maegyr, she was the healer who tended to my wounds."

"A pleasure." Robb furrowed his brows slightly in thought, though his smile was still friendly. "I've never heard of a house Maegyr."

"An uncommon name here. An old name in Volantis."

"Volantis?" Robb raised his eyebrows. "You're a long way from home."

Talisa smiled coyly as she exchanged a look with Arabelle. "Don't I know it."

Robb cleared his throat as he gestured to Arabelle. "Well, Lady Talisa of Volantis, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to steal Lady Arabelle away from you."

"And you are more than welcome to do so." Talisa nodded, waving a small goodbye as Arabelle moved around the crates on which they'd been sitting.

"I'll see you later, Talisa." Arabelle called over her shoulder, a smile on her face as she followed Robb off deeper into the camp.

Robb smirked over at Arabelle as he clasped his hands behind his back. "Making friends?"

"So are you." Arabelle looked up at him, nodding around to his soldiers.

He stifled a chuckle as they slowed, his eyes falling to where she'd been wounded. "How is your side?"

Arabelle smiled at him. "Better."

"Lady Catelyn!" Arabelle called as she lifted her head and saw the familiar auburn locks of her Aunt Cat. She swept her Aunt Cat into a hug, a smile of pure relief on her face.

Catelyn smiled warmly. "Arabelle. It is so good to see you again." She rubbed her hands up and down Arabelle's upper arms before stepping to the side, a warm and familiar smile on her face as she looked at Robb. "And you, my son."

"Mother." He smiled, hugging her tightly. It'd been weeks since he'd last seen her after sending her as an envoy to Renly Baratheon.

Arabelle's eyes flickered to the tall blonde accompanying Lady Catelyn. A woman.

Catelyn gestured behind her at the nervous-looking woman soldier. "Arabelle, Robb, this is Lady Brienne of Tarth."

"Please, just Brienne."

Arabelle nodded and bowed her head, a polite smile on her face. "A pleasure to meet you, Brienne of Tarth."

"And you, my lady." She nodded to Arabelle. "Your Grace." She bowed for Robb. She eyed off Arabelle's leathers and the short sword sheathed at her belt. "Forgive me, my lady, but you are not dressed like most noble women."

Arabelle looked the woman up and down and raised her eyebrows. "Nor are you."

Catelyn chuckled as she looked Arabelle over before meeting Brienne's eyes. "Our Arabelle is much similar to you, Brienne. Raised with swordplay."

Brienne looked embarrassed, though slightly pleased. "I've never met another woman who has been martially inclined."

Arabelle smiled warmly. She liked this woman. Like Talisa, she was noble, yet so different to the girls that she had called her playmates in her youth. "You would do me a great honour to sup with me later, Brienne of Tarth. I'm sure we must have a lot to talk about."

Brienne's mouth gaped slightly before she smiled politely and bowed her head. "It is you who honours me, my Lady."

Loud footsteps trudged through the mud from their right, the attention of Robb and the women that surrounded him all being taken by what appeared to be a slightly dishevelled looking Roose Bolton.

"Your Grace, my Ladies. News from Winterfell."

* * *

Robb rested his elbows on the table he sat at, covering his mouth as he tried to rationalise what had been reported in his head. Behind him, his mother paced incessantly. To his right was Lord Alyn Benefort, behind him, with a hand clutching her father's shoulder, was Lady Arabelle. To Robb's left sat Doran, who looked just as disturbed as Robb was sure he himself appeared.

"This cannot be true." Robb said blankly staring at the map before him as he tried to let the news sink in.

"We've had ravens from White Harbor, Barrowton and the Dreadfort. I'm afraid it is true." Lord Roose stated, holding his hands together as he stood in front of his King.

Doran shook his head. "Why would Theon-"

"Because the Greyjoy's are treasonous whores." Lord Roose answered.

"My brothers?" Robb asked, his eyes finally moving from the map to meet with Lord Bolton's.

Lord Bolton shook his head. "We've heard nothing of them." He paused for a moment, remaining stoic. "But Rodrik Cassel is dead."

"I told you never trust a Greyjoy!" Catelyn hissed from behind her son.

Robb pushed himself from his seat. "I must ride North at once."

"There is still a war to win, your Grace." Lord Roose reminded him.

"How can I call myself King if I can't hold my own castle?!" He almost spat in Lord Bolton's face. "How can I ask men to follow me if I can't-"

"You are a King." Alyn rose from his seat, his voice so loud in the tent that all heads turned to him. "And even King's don't fight all of their own battles."

Catelyn rushed forward to her son, resting a hand on his arm. "Let me go and talk to Theon."

Robb practically growled. "There will be no talk, he will die for this."

Alyn stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back as he walked around the table. "Theon will not be holding the castle with an overwhelming force, am I correct in that, Lord Bolton?"

"You are, my Lord."

Lord Benefort brought a hand to his chin, stroking for a moment before lowering it and looking Robb in the eye. "Allow me to handle this, your Grace. My son and I will march back North, and we will take back Winterfell and bring Theon to justice."

"Do not forget, father." Arabelle followed her father around the table. "There are _children_ at Winterfell. And not just any children, but Bran and little Rickon. We can't put them in anymore danger."

"More danger than they're already in!?" Doran scoffed, rising out of his chair. "Do you suggest we just sit back, and let Theon do Gods know what?"

Arabelle sighed as she looked at her brother. "No, Doran. But we can't just rush into-"

"Enough!" Lord Alyn looked between his children, the glare in his eyes one that had always made them quieten quickly. "You cannot march back North, your Grace. We have the Lannister's running with their tail between their legs – if we turn back now we stand to lose everything we have gained." Alyn straightened himself and ran a hand through the greying wisps of his hair. "I will march North, or I shall send Doran. Whomever you assign this task, your Grace, will take three hundred men."

"With respect, Lord Benefort." Lord Bolton spoke up. "Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon. My boy would be honoured to bring you Prince Theon's head."

Robb looked between the two men, conflicted. He exchanged glances with the Benefort twins too, before looking back to both of the older Lord's. "Tell your son that Bran and Rickon's safety is paramount." He looked to Doran. "You will leave with your men at first light, and meet with Lord Bolton's bastard and his men. Together, you will take back my home."

Doran nodded and bowed his head, Lord Roose doing much the same.

"And Theon? I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why, and then I'll take his head myself."

* * *

After the small meeting, Arabelle had been excused whilst her brother and father went to make the necessary arrangements to recapture Winterfell. Robb was with the other Lords, still strategizing in the midst of the devastating news.

She'd been pushed out by all of them, having to wade through the camp back to her tent. But on the way, she'd decided she'd call in that sup she promised Brienne of Tarth. She seemed to be Catelyn's sworn sword – and Catelyn was in yet another meeting at her son's side.

"You are very generous, my Lady." Brienne said as she sat down, a plate of food already set for her.

Arabelle smiled and waved her off as she went to take a sip of her wine. "Nonsense. We would have been eating alone separately anyways."

"Not many women acknowledge my presence."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not like most women." Arabelle rose her cup in cheers. "And neither are you."

Hesitantly, Brienne rose her own cup, clinking it with Arabelle's before taking a small sip.

"So tell me, Brienne of Tarth." Arabelle smiled coyly as she cut her food. "How have you found yourself in Lady Catelyn's service?"

Brienne swallowed thickly as her eyes fell to her plate, avoiding Arabelle's eyes. "I…" She shifted nervously. "I was sworn to King Renly Baratheon."

Arabelle looked over at her with wide eyes, which soon turned sympathetic. She'd received the news not long after Lady Catelyn had arrived, before they'd met in the tent and ordered her brother to march North. "I am sorry. I heard he was a good man."

"Forgive me, my Lady, but most would deem me a traitor at worst. Mercenary at best."

Arabelle took a sip of her wine as she mulled over the words she wanted to say. She furrowed her brows before she spoke. "I think that when you lost your King you lost your cause." Her face relaxed slightly as her eyes flickered to the table. "And now you have pledged yourself to a new cause." Arabelle looked up at Brienne of Tarth, a small reassuring smile on her face. "You do not strike me as a either a traitor nor a mercenary."

Brienne furrowed her brows. "How would you know that?"

Arabelle's smile dimmed as she placed her cup down. "I'm good at reading people. Or, so I thought." She leant back in her chair as she looked up at her dining companion. "My grandmother prides herself on her ability to read people in the first five words they say. She tried to teach me to be the same way." She shrugged as she met Brienne's eyes. "Traitors and mercenaries would not march into what had been their enemy camp without flinching."

"And please, none of that Lady business. Call me Arabelle."

Brienne nodded, hesitantly picking up her cup. The two picked away more at their meals in silence for a few minutes, before Arabelle couldn't resist asking the question. "Who taught you to fight?"

"My master-at-arms." Brienne placed her own cup down as she stifled a small smirk. "My father wished a marital life for me, rather than a martial one."

Arabelle chuckled. "We seem to have that in common. Though, it is more my mother who wishes for me to be wed."

Brienne practically scoffed at Arabelle. "I can't imagine it would be hard for someone so beautiful as you to find a husband."

Arabelle looked up at Brienne from under her thick lashes and smirked. "It isn't." She sat up straight and tilted her head. "But that doesn't mean I want a husband."

Brienne of Tarth nodded her understanding, a smile tugging at her lips. Arabelle guessed that it would be hard for most people to make this knightly woman smile. "I think I understand you quite well, my La-" She stopped herself as Arabelle raised her eyebrows, a friendly smile on her lips. "Arabelle."

* * *

Robb sat on the end of his bed, his head between his knees as he thought of his brothers. Crippled Bran and little Rickon, helpless and alone. The thought sickened him. He still couldn't believe Theon's betrayal – he had considered Theon among his closest, if not best, friend. They'd _grown_ together. Lord Eddard had always been fair to him.

"Doran will take back Winterfell. And he'll find the boys safe and sound, you'll see." Arabelle came to the end of the bed behind him, rubbing a reassuring hand up and down his arm.

"They're all alone, Arabelle." He balled his hand into a fist. "Why would he do this?"

Arabelle shrugged slightly as she thought of a reason, any reason, that Theon would betray the family that had treated him like their own for almost ten years. "Theon has always been eager to impress. Something tells me that his father is the one he seeks to impress the most."

Robb ran a hand through his hair. "He was my brother." His voice was distraught, and it broke Arabelle's heart.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm so sorry." She rested her head on his shoulder before whispering in his ear. "You can trust Doran."

Robb nodded. "I know. Which is why I asked him to go as well." He sighed and pushed his arms from his knees, sitting up straight. "If Theon, someone I considered family would betray me, then why would I trust Lord Bolton's bastard son?"

"I know, my love. I know." Arabelle squeezed him slightly. "It sickens me to my stomach." The thought of Bran and Rickon in danger, when she'd reassured them so many times that Winterfell was where they were safest.

Robb wiped his face. "How can I trust anyone else?"

She angled her head so she could see the side of his face. "You know Doran."

"I thought I knew Theon."

Arabelle let go of him and sat back. She felt mildly insulted he'd think such things of her twin, though she could understand. The man who he'd thought his closest friend had betrayed him. It was hard to trust after such a close betrayal. "What does Doran have to gain from betraying you? While you have his sister and father at your side?"

"I don't just mean Doran."

"You've learnt a hard lesson." She sighed as she rested her hand on his arm. "One that we all must learn."

"Bran and Rickon are innocent."

Arabelle shook her head at him. "So long as they bare the Stark name, they're anything but." She pushed herself so his side and rested a hand on his thigh. "Once Winterfell is reclaimed, you should send your mother home." She squeezed his thigh reassuringly. "The boys need their mother."

Robb shook his head, his eyes still wide with disbelief. "Mother hasn't seen Bran since he woke up."

Arabelle nodded. "She's been away for far too long."

"So have I."

She sighed at him. "We need to get Sansa and Arya back. Then you'll be able to go home."

"_We'll _be able to go home."

She could've brought up the fact he had to marry a Frey. She could've said that she would only be home until her father found her a suitable match. But instead she took his hand in hers and kissed it, resting her head on his shoulder. "We will."

* * *

**Michael:** Thanks for the review! To answer your question; I never stated this would be an AU. I _want_ to follow the story. The Benefort's will make quite a difference in the later seasons – right now, they're following their allies to war. I understand it might not make much sense to you, but this is how I've wanted to write this story. I have some ideas for season three, so I might be changing things up when I get there.

Betrothal's can be easily broken in Westeros, hell Margaery is married to not two but THREE people throughout the story. Doran's marriage plans fell through, and so too did Arabelle's.

Doran couldn't reveal himself yet – and with the Lannister scout over counting the Stark's numbers, the ~secret~ addition of the Benefort's armies are supposed to devastate Lannister forces, as they'll assume the North has less men.

Even though Robb and Arabelle are already together, obviously the engagement breaking is drama enough for them, but the insult of Robb having to marry below himself also plays a big part, though I understand I might not have made that very clear.

**R.A:** Thanks! To be quite frank with you, I never said that Arabelle and Jon would get back together. You don't know what I have planned for them – and like I said, their relationship will never be the same. She chose to force herself to move on from him. And yeah, she has been playing them both _and_ hurting them, and that's her major character flaw. She's a very manipulative person – something she's inherited from her grandmother. If you don't like Arabelle, why bother reading my story? It kind of centres around her, after all.

**RellaRose100:** Thank you! I'm sorry that I disappear so often, but I came back with a refreshed mind and better idea of what direction I want to go in with this story. I'm so glad you like it!

**Guest:** I'm afraid I don't understand what you're referring to? I think you might be thinking a bit further ahead than we actually are right now :)


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